Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
by Cocoa987
Summary: In which a Miss Mary Poppin's life is forever changed by a painting, a friend, and a word- although not necessarily in that order. The stories behind every letter in a very very long word. Also with a nice shiny plot!
1. Umbrellas of supercaliness

Mary Poppins stepped into the room she had been renting for the past few days and closed the door. She yawned quietly. It had been a long afternoon of running errands. The wind wasn't due to change for a few more days, so she figured she had some time to relax, for once.

Something by the window caught her attention. She opened the window and picked up a white envelope. Her name was written on it in an oddly familiar scrawl. Mary opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

It was a painting. It was of Michael and Jane Banks, Bert, and herself in the park. They were dancing to some unheard music. Underneath the painting was written one word. 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'.

Mary flipped over the painting. It was bound to be from Bert. Only he could paint something like this and manage to find her here, in this quiet little bed-and-breakfast.

_Mary- tho' ya' might like t' ha' this. List'n, I don't know how much longer you're in town, but if you're still here tomorrow around fi'e, I've come int' a bit of money an' I was wonderin'- you, me, dinner? Nothin' fancy. Just two friends? Hope I'm no' oversteppin' any lines. Just want t' say goodbye. Yours always, Bert._

Mary sighed and shook her head fondly. Bert always was around when she needed a friend. But he also knew when she just needed some space. She hated to disappoint, and right now she just wouldn't be good company. What she needed was just an hour or two of quiet. Bert would understand, Mary decided.

She wrote a quick response on a spare piece of stationary. _Bert-five o'clock is fine. The painting is lovely- going to explore. I'll be back in a few hours. Rooftops? Mary P. _She didn't bother asking about the 'yours always' in his note.

She called a passing bird and asked him to pass along the note. The bird took it carefully and set off cheerfully, no doubt to tell everyone that he himself had spoken to _Mary Poppins_.

Mary lay down on the bed, painting in one hand, notebook in other. She wrote down each letter on a separate page, ready for whatever she felt like writing. Her little word meant so much, it was best to leave enough room. She suppressed another yawn, and then dove into the painting.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**S**upercalifragilisticexpialidocious. That seems like a good place to start out. That's the tune that they were dancing to that day. She had been teaching them how to spell it, bit by bit. Bert had stood there making funny hand motions to go with each letter until the children had nearly collapsed with laughter.

She had sighed and shook her head, fighting a smile. Bert had winked at her, and made yet another gesture. She had giggled and started the next series of letters, trying to concentrate. Bert had shaken his head and grinned, running a finger through his hair.

Eventually they had managed to spell the whole word. Bert managed to get Michael to copy his motions, and soon they were all standing in a line, twisting and turning their hands. Once that was finished, Mary said it backwards.

It was worth all the time she had taken trying to figure out how to say it backward just to see the looks on their faces. Michael's mouth had inadvertently fallen open, showing off the sweet he had hidden in his cheek. Jane was trying not to go the same way as her brother. Bert had just smiled.

That was a wonderful day. The most fun she'd had in ages. The children had learned their lessons, and it was nearly time for Mary to leave again. Mary didn't have to be as strictly practically perfect as always. She could have a little fun. And so she did.

The day had turned out well. Mary had passed on the secrets of her little word. Jane and Michael were better behaved than ever. Bert had grown closer than ever to Mary. And Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, had let her guard down, and, for a few moments at least, had fun.

**U**mbrella. Mary loves her little umbrella. It's been hers since the day she turned eight, and first learned of her powers. Her Uncle Albert had taken down the umbrella from its place by the door and pressed it into her little hand. He told her it was hers, and to take care of it always. And so Mary did.

It's not a common fact that a person can store magic into other things. Whenever Mary's heart was filled to the bursting with magic, she would send some of it into one of her accessories. It was always good to have a bit of magic saved up, for those times when she needed a bit of a lift.

As a bonus, those little accessories sometimes took on magical properties of their own. Like her umbrella. Without it, Mary isn't nearly as capable at flying as she is with it. But no one really needs to know that, do they?

Her umbrella also likes to talk to her. The day it first spoke was the day she turned nine, and it nearly scared the wits out of her. She gave a most undignified screech and was scolded severely.

"Practically Perfect people _don't _screech." Her uncle had admonished. "And all things are to be treated with respect. Now apologize."

Mary was about to ask what practically perfect people _were_ supposed to do, but decided that probably wouldn't be the greatest question to ask at the time. It was her birthday, but her uncle was bound to scold her. She was supposed to be on her way to being practically perfect. She was just finally getting a handle on her powers. It wouldn't do to misbehave now.

Mary had apologized, the bird at the handle had ignored her, and so began a beautiful friendship.

**Well, this is supposed to be exactly 1,000 words (without this A.N.) but there seems to be a discrepancy between this word count and the one on my computer. Huh. Anywhoo...welcome, I'm Cocoa, review, ect. **


	2. Practically Perfect Eccentricy

**Thanks for all the reviews, people!! Reviews are love, and reviews for Mary Poppins is extra amazing love. (Cuz who reads Mary Poppins fics, anyway?)**

**I'm Cocoa, don't own MP. Nuff said. **

_Mary watched the scene for a while. For a moment, she wondered why she wasn't in the scene, or being recognized by the people around her. _

"_It's a memory." A familiar voice said from behind her. Mary whirled around and came face to face with Bert. But no, it wasn't Bert. It __looked__ like him, but it was a different version of him. It was Bert as a child. Mary looked at him, and quickly realized that she was eye level with him. She wasn't the tallest, but she wasn't __that__ short!_

"_You're a kid. Don't worry. The rules are a bit confusing, but you'll get them." The child-Bert said. Mary blinked, confused._

"_What?" She flushed. "I mean, pardon me?" Now that she thought about it, her voice sounded younger. Bert smiled at what must have been the confused expression on her face._

"_Bert painted a memory. When people like you enter memories, especially ones that include you, something has to change. We can't have two of you walking around. And you can't change anything. It isn't like going back in time. And then nobody can see you. You just see them. It all works out." Bert looked at her expectantly. Mary puzzled over this new information for a moment or two._

"_So you're Bert? The real Bert?" She asked finally. Bert shook his head, fighting a grin._

"_No ma'm. I'm just a memory of Bert. I'm just in here to be a guide." Mary smiled in spite of herself. "Now you're getting it! Now come on. We've got things to do." Bert started to walk off, then stopped when Mary still stood watching herself and the others. Her mouthed had fallen open just a bit, like someone did when they were shocked and didn't realize they were showing it. Bert trotted back to her side._

"_Still confused?" He asked gently. Mary closed her mouth with a __snap__ and nodded sheepishly._

"_Okay. Listen close. You're in a memory. It's like a whole different world. These people will be in this moment forever. Once they're done, the whole thing will start all over. You're a kid because there can't be two Mary Poppins at once. You're free to watch your memories from another point of view. Got it?" Mary nodded once, her focus back. "Oh, and Mary? Here you don't have to be practically perfect. Just to let you know."_

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**P**ractically perfect. That's where to start now. For those who don't know, sometimes it's _hard_to be practically perfect.

Sometimes, Mary feels herself slipping. She feels she's just a bit _too_ witty and not enough pretty. When she's too stern and _definitely_ not willing to learn.

Sometimes she measures herself. When she brings out the tape measure at each new house, she goes last. Sometimes she's grown, inching up towards 'Ms. Andrews', or shrunk toward being sugary sweet like cherry medicine.

Sometimes Mary keeps going. She throws those high-heeled, fancy shoes into her purse and continues on with her song and dance. She _forces_ herself to be perfect. But sometimes it doesn't work.

Sometimes Mary has to leave. There are days when she can't wait for her evening off. Only then can she go. So naturally, she goes to her favorite place: the rooftops. She runs until she forgets everything else. And when she stops running, she can think again.

Sometimes, Mary cries. She just stops on the rooftops and cries. Once, Bert found her up there. He didn't say anything. He just sat there with her and held her until the tears stopped, wiped away her tears, and walked her home.

True, he made sure she was alright, but he didn't press. He didn't try to make everything seem okay. Bert of all people gets that sometimes life is hard. And so he let Mary cry.

Bert and Mary reached an understanding that day. Mary doesn't always have to be practically perfect. Bert doesn't care. Bert gets that there are days when Mary can't _wait_ for her day off just so she can have a minute to breathe.

But Bert doesn't care. Being practically perfect is too hard sometimes. Sometimes you just have to settle for _nearly_practically perfect.

**E**ccentric. Mary could be seen as eccentric. She's always just the slightest bit out there, just a bit different from everyone else. It isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's just a fact.

Mary has magic. People with magic are always just a bit set apart. They try to be the same as everyone else, but it just isn't completely possible. Mary knows that. Sometimes, however, it drives her bonkers.

Whenever she does something that makes a few heads turn, she berates herself for drawing attention. People with magic don't like to be discovered. Children always see it, and know it, and believe it, but adults don't always. Adults would rather believe a lie than see the truth sometimes. Most children become that way, too, as they grow up.

A rare few are different, though. Some remember the magic. They believe. Those almost always are the outcasts, the people who don't belong with the rest of society. Most sweepers get it. Bert knows. Mary sometimes thinks that Mrs. Banks has a pretty good idea.

Mary likes being different, sometimes. She likes sliding up the banister, and humming as she tidies the nursery, and constantly knowing what's going on. She likes doing that little thing, where she acts like she knows everything so she won't have to ask questions. She likes acting like people are utterly ridiculous when they start babbling about magic. It makes her day brighter.

Being different is fun. Mary Poppins is different. She's eccentric. And she loves it.

**Next up: Rum Punch and Chim Chim Cheree. If the intro part at the top was too confusing, let me know. It all made sense to me...but I wrote it. (lols)**

**Cocoa =D **


	3. Rum Punch on the Rooftops

**'Ello, y'all. Finished this about five minutes ago, so please excuse anything I missed. Sorry about the confusion with the last chapter- basically explaining rules of this little world. It had to be done...but I digress. I give you R and C: Rum Punch and Chim chim Cher-ee. **

_Mary followed Bert through the park, glancing over her shoulder at her older self, still dancing fifty feet away. Bert stopped, and she nearly bumped into him. He kept his face straight, but his eyes were laughing. _

"_You're not done watchin', are you?" He asked. Mary bit her lip and examined her shoes intently. Bert shook his head, fighting yet another smile._

"_All right, then. 'Ave a seat." Mary sat on the bench and started watching herself all over again._

_It was a bit unsettling, watching something from outside her body. 'Am I finally going crazy?' she wondered. Her mind began to spin, bringing up stories of relatives whose magic had turned against them…_

"_Mary?" Mary whirled around, a hand flying to her chest. Bert- the child- stood behind her with concern evident, holding two drinks. "You all righ'?" Mary nodded, and Bert smiled._

"_Rum punch?" Mary cocked an eyebrow at him dubiously. Bert winked. "Bert painted it in special." Mary sighed and shook her head, taking the drink._

"_Bert knows me too well," she declared wryly. Bert chuckled, sitting next to her on the bench. The two watched the scene in silence for a moment longer, sipping their punches. _

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Rum Punch**. Mary loves rum punch. It's one of those things that aren't mentioned in the resume. Mary can just see it: tidy, sensible, magic, loves rum punch. It just doesn't really work out.

She mentioned this gem of wisdom to Bert once. They had stopped for drinks somewhere when they were both between jobs. Bert had stared at the menu, than started to order when Mary butted in. She spotted the listing for rum punch and instantly declared that she _must_ have it. Bert had stared, laughed, and ordered the same.

As they sipped their drinks, Bert said, "I ne'er pinned ya as the 'rum punch' kind." Mary blushed, feeling color painting her cheeks.

"Family thing," she had muttered. Bert had cocked his head, waiting for her to continue. "I've had punch since I was a child. Once I got old enough to drink, there was always just a splash of alcohol in the punch. We all love it." Bert nodded, taking another sip of his punch. It wasn't all that surprising. All the Poppins had their quirks- at least, the ones he knew.

"I just didn't think you'd be the type." He had said. Mary took that opportunity to share her bit of commentary on the contents of resumes nowadays. Bert had blinked, shook his head, and grinned into his punch.

From that day on, whenever it was just the two of them on an evening out, Bert treated Mary to a rum punch. He told her that he was expecting her to find the best in London. She always retorted that all they had to do was walk to Uncle Albert's house, but he just shook his head. "The best _not_ made with magic," he would admonish, and their search would continue

If you look, you can notice Mary's little sweet tooth. Whenever she doles out medicine, she always takes just a small spoonful…

**(We interrupt this drabble section for more plot! Yay or nay?)**

_As Mary finished off her punch, the memory ended, and suddenly it was like the tape had been rewound and started again. _

_For the first time, Mary noticed the little things. The things that don't seem important when you're living life. Like the way Jane's eyes lit up at everything. The way Michael kicked at the pigeons in his way when they got within pecking distance- she'd have to send a note about that. The way Mary herself unconsciously fluttered her fingers at the park statues in a subtle 'hello'. And the way Bert smiled back at the kids as he led the way._

_The Bert beside her checked his watch and stood up. _

"_Criminey. I'm always late." he muttered as he double checked his watch. "All right. Come on. We've gotta move." He said before starting off. He glanced quickly up at the sky, trying not to catch her attention. He failed._

_Mary followed his gaze to the Banks, where two very familiar figures stood on the roofs above, singing a very familiar song…_

**Chim Chim Cheree**. It's an old sweeper's song. Mary will always remember the time Bert taught it to her, one starry night on the rooftops. It was her night off, and it was fun just to be out under the stars without a care in the world. But that isn't what Mary always thinks off when she hears that little tune. It's the night up above the Banks' house, the evening she left.

Mary thought she heard Bert's voice as she finished tidying up the nursery. "Bert? Is that you?" She called quietly up the chimney. She took the resulting humming for a yes, and, with a backwards glance, flew up the chimney.

She came out the top with a _whoosh, _to see Bert sitting at the roof's edge singing the first bars of "Chim Chim Cheree" to himself. When he saw her, carpetbag in hand, he inadvertently said the next line in the song. "Coo, what a sight." Mary shook her head and clicked her tongue.

"Oh, you're a sweep now, are you?" She asked him. Bert grinned up at her, his teeth gleaming white against his soot-stained face.

"Best view in the world, eh?" He asked her. Mary shrugged noncommittally. She'd seen better from the air. She couldn't think of any at the time; London at night _was_ beautiful.

Bert started singing the first verse of their favorite song. Mary sat on a ledge, content just to listen and watch for a moment or two.

"Now as the ladder of life 'as been strung, you may think a sweep's on the bottommost rung." Bert's feet slipped out from under him, and he nearly tumbled off the roof. Mary's heart leapt into her throat, and she reached forward to steady him impulsively.

Bert caught his balance nimbly, his grin showing that it was all just a joke. Mary glared at him in mock annoyance, but the song went on. Bert sat on the ledge and gazed out over the rooftops. When his part ended, he looked to Mary for the chorus.

"Chim Chimney Chim Chimney Chim Chim Cheree, a sweep is as lucky as lucky can be. Chim Chimney Chim Chimney Chim Chim, Chiroo. Good luck will rub off, when he shakes hands with you." Mary stood up, and Bert took her hand, helping her to her feet.

"Or blow me a kiss!" He pulled her close, still gripping her hand in his. Mary's eyes widened slightly. This wasn't the way _she _had learned the song.

"Bert!" She said, her words both a scold and a plead not to make this harder than it had to be. Bert let go of her hand and backed up, holding up his hands and grinning.

"And that's lucky, too!" He looked down at the carpetbag Mary had set by her feet. "You're going, then?" Mary hesitated.

"The wind's changed." It was a bad excuse, and she knew it.

"Ah, but they're good kids, Mary." For the first time, Mary noticed the way he said her name, with just a bit of an accent on the first syllable, unlike everyone else. She always knew it was him by the way he pronounced her name.

"Would I be bothering with them if they weren't?" She replied, raising an eyebrow. The conversation continued, until Bert changed the topic and sang one last bar of the song.

"Chim Chimney Chim Chimney Chim Chim Cher-ee." He broke off, and Mary continued. "When you're with a sweep, you're in glad company… Goodbye, Bert." She put a hand to his cheek, and he smiled sadly.

As Mary left, Bert sang the last lines to himself. Strangely, the tune had slipped into a minor key. It seemed fitting, he thought to himself. "Nowhere is there a more 'appier crew, then thems wot sings chim chim cheree chim chiroo. Chim Chimney Chim Chim, Cher-ee Chim-" Mary's voice above caught his attention, and he caught her silhouette against the sky.

As Mary disappeared, he waved, putting on a happy face for her. As she flew out of sight, Bert slumped against the chimney, already missing his friend. A thought struck him and sent a slow smile edging across his face: she'd have to come back, sooner or later. There were still more stories to be told.

With that thought firmly in his mind, Bert set off again, humming under his breath. "Chim Chimney, Chim chimney, chim chim chir-oo. La dum, da dum dum, hm hmm hmm hm hmm…" She'd be back. And then, once they were together again, they'd sing the same old song, just like always.

**Chim Chim Cher-ee was longer because that was originally going to be its own oneshot. It was too short for a oneshot, too long for a drabble, so I stuck it here. **

**Ok, you know the drill. Review, laugh, love, check out all my other crud on this site. **

**Next up: Andrews (Miss) ; Lark. First person to get where I'm headed with this (other then jedigirl, cuz she already knows) gets...cookies. Lots of them. And Mt. Dew. And... whatever else I can scrounge up. =D**

**Cocoa**


	4. Mrs Andrew's Lark

**Hola, mi amigos! (Hello, my friends). I give you A and L : Andrews and Lark. Yes, I borrowed the chapter name from Mary Poppins Comes Back. I just read the Mary Poppins books for the first time in forever this week. Good...!**

"_Mary!" A voice called sharply. Mary's head whipped around to see Bert standing impatiently at the Park Gate. He was shifting from side to side __excitedly. "Golly, Mary. There are still things to do, and we don't have much time!" Mary giggled. _

_She suddenly felt younger, giddier, happier than she had in a long time. She shrugged mentally. It was always the rum punch. No matter. As long as she was here, alone, with this Bert- or memory of Bert, or whoever it was- it didn't really matter. _

_She skipped down the sidewalk, giggling just a bit. As she reached the end of the walk, Bert caught her and spun her around, trying unsuccessfully to keep the pair upright. They landed in the grass and laughed until their sides ached._

"_Children should be seen and not heard." A croaking voice said, just above them. Mary looked up and squeaked in fright. It was Mrs. Andrews: the woman Mary Poppins was determined to be rid of. _

_Bert noticed her sudden silence and looked up. His dirty face grew pale, and he chuckled nervously. "She can't mess w' us. I don't think. We shu'd be okay." Mrs. Andrews didn't even bat an eye. "See? Told ya." _

_Mary stared at the old woman. __**She isn't real**_**, **_she told herself firmly. Then, she stuck her tongue out before giggling._

_Mrs. Andrews didn't move. Bert chuckled softly. Mary didn't care. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Soon they were both waving their arms around and making funny faces, giggling all the harder at the blank expression on the nanny's face._

_A peeping noise made Mary turn, still holding her side breathlessly. Caruso the lark watched her, giggling as well._

"_Your turn!" she told it, flopping down on the grass happily. Caruso hesitated for a moment before soaring to land on Mrs. Andrew's very exaggerated hat. This sent Mary and Bert off into another round of giggles._

_Finally, Bert stood up, and helped Mary to her feet. "We still have to go." He told her, and she nodded dizzily. _

"_Than off we shall go!" She said cheerily. Bert laughed, and they set off down Cherry Tree Lane to the tune of Caruso's song. _

**A**ndrew. As in Mrs. Andrew. Mary shudders from time to time just hearing the name.

Months of hard work has been undone in just a few short days thanks to that dreadful woman. Mary has had to resort to desperate measures just to get things back to normal before the wind changes. It's a difficult task. Most often, if she leaves, she's quickly brought back to refix things. It's nice to see the children again, but Mary needs to move on to other places.

Take the Banks children for example. They were well on their way to being good children. A little nudge in the right direction, a little help from a few friends, and they would have been all right.

But, of course, Mrs. Banks had to call in a nanny. Mrs. Andrew probably wasn't the best choice.

The way she treated her charges! Forcing brimstone and treacle into their mouths, and sending the boys off to boarding school! Children are to be brought up with some discipline, but enough is enough!

And the poor little caged lark! Sweet little bird. When Mary saw it she thought she would- Mary lost her temper that day, as she does when she always encounters cruelty. She always did have a dreadful temper- but that is a different story. We were talking about Mrs. Andrew.

Mary supposes that Euphemia might have started out with good intentions. She might have been a good nanny, if things had been different. But, good intentions can turn bad in the wink of an eye, and a name like 'The Holy Terror' can soon ward off any potential job offers.

So, Mary Poppins will always cross paths with Euphemia Andrews. Life has its little quirks. On good days Mary thinks of it as a challenge. On bad days she thinks of it as a nasty little game that the constellations are playing.

No matter. Mary's goal is the same; to make sure no child has to put up with brimstone and treacle for long.

**Lark. **Mary feels bad for little Caruso, the sweet, innocent bird that had to put up with dreadful Mrs. Andrews for two whole years.

Caruso was the name of a famed opera singer. From what Mary gathered from the context, Mrs. Andrews was quite excited to have a nice singing bird around.

Mary can remember the day they met quite well. She had just come back to the Banks house to absolute chaos. Chaos in the form of a certain Euphemia Andrews. She had just begun to take stock of things when she heard a small '_cheep'_.

When investigated, Mary discovered a small bird, trapped in a tiny birdcage. She was horrified. Mrs. Andrews had done many undesirable deeds, but this was low. Enslaving a life? Taking away a creature's freedom? Why would someone do such a thing?

So Mary had let it out. Just. Like. That. She had flipped open the latch and set little Caruso free. Even as she was working on the latch-it was quite stiff- the little bird was thanking her and telling her how he would go straight home, no trouble.

Mary had bitten back a giggle at the bird's eagerness. She had ducked her head modestly at the earnest praise and sent him on his merry way before he could be discovered.

To this day no one is quite sure how Mary Poppins and the little lark exacted revenge on Euphemia Andrews. Jane insists that Mrs. Andrews shrunk to fit in the birdcage, and was carried off into the sky by her little bird. Michael swears that the cage grew larger around her and sent her down "into the pits of hell". Mary Poppins simply says that the children were being quite rude to have driven her away only moments after arrival.

**Mrs. Andrews (Euphemia is such a silly name. EuphemiaEuphemiaEuphemia...) will make one more appearance in a later drabble. Three guesses as to where. **

**Just a thought: The AL combination appears not once, but TWICE in supercALifragilisticexpiALidocious. And no, I will not be doing Mrs. Lark's Andrew. Good thought, though.**

**Okay, next week we will have 'I' and 'F': Imperfections (goody!) and Feed the Birds (yet another oneshot-drabble.)**

**Read, Review, Love, Update your own Mary Poppins stuff so I have something to do!**

**Cocoa =D**


	5. Feeding the Birds with Imperfections

**This first drabble has many bits of stuff from a conversation with RainbowAquila. So, I have to apologize, means I poke a _little _bit of fun at her. Thank you for all the amazing ideas!**

_Mary stepped onto the sidewalk and was surprised to find herself back as an adult. She shrugged. It was confusing, but she wasn't one to question the rules. _

_Bert had grown, too, but she was as she nearly always pictured him. He was the long-legged teenage boy she had grown up. His face was younger, still covered in soot, but it was the same old Bert._

_Bert gestured down the walk, and Mary skipped forward, stumbling slightly. She looked down to find a new pair of shoes on her feet. She glared at Bert._

_"They're better than your other ones, aren't they?" Bert asked._

_"Yes," Mary admitted grudgingly. "But they make me trip." Bert grinned._

_"All the better." He took her arm, and they continued to skip down the walk._

_As they wandered down the walk, birds flew beside them, chattering about whatever news was going on that day. Mary listened closely, and enjoyed the sensation of being able to truly listen to many of her old friends._

_"What are they sayin'?" Bert asked her gently._

_"They're talking about…about the bird lady. How she's getting older. And they're talking about the trip they'll have to be making soon. It's getting to be cold." Mary held up a finger, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. _

_"They're saying… oops!" Mary slipped off the walk, and nearly tumbled into the empty the street._

_Strong arms surrounded her, and held her up by her armpits. She looked up, and Bert's chuckling face appeared above her. _

_"Oh, behave yourself," she told him irritably. Bert hauled her up, and when she was firmly on her feet, Bert roared with laughter. Mary glared at him, and shoved him playfully across the walk. _

**Imperfections**. It may surprise some people, but Mary Poppins isn't perfect. On the contrary, she has done many idiotic, crazy, unorthodox things in her lifetime that she isn't particularly proud of.

Take a recent Night Off, for example. When she isn't dancing with the stars, celebrating the Birthday at the zoo, or up on the rooftops, she is out with Bert. Some nights they go to the park. Some nights he takes her downtown. Some nights Bert takes her into his latest chalk-picture, and they spend the evening in Fairyland.

On this particular night Bert had come into a bit of money, just like he said he had today. This happened to coincide with Mary's Night Off, so he took her on a long-overdue dinner outing. At a relatively fancy place. A place that required decent shoes.

(Let it first be known that Mary isn't what you would call 'graceful'. She has the nasty habit of tripping, even in her flats. So you can imagine her difficulties when required to wear high heels.)

Mary stumbled off the curb, gripping Bert's arm despite herself as she nearly tipped over into the cobblestone street. She glared as Bert bit back a grin.

He looked nice, she'd give him that. He'd cleaned up well, with decent clothes and a soot-free face. It's just that he was _laughing _at her! Mary stared down at her shoes in frustration. They were only half-inch heels, for goodness sake!

Mary let go of Bert's arm, and with as much dignity as she could muster, started to walk across the street. She was scarcely halfway when she tripped, and tipped forward. Bert steadied her, and she finally gave up and clung to his arm until they reached the restaurant.

After another long while of tripping every so often, Mary excused herself and hurried to the lady's room. Making sure she was alone, she closed her eyes and _snapped_. When she opened her eyes she was just the slightest bit taller. She stepped carefully and smiled smugly when her heels rested just above the ground. It was a bit more difficult to trip in mid-air.

Unfortunately, Bert was very observant. He saw Mary's slight height difference. He heard the absence of her heels clicking on the floor. More importantly, she hadn't tripped in at least five minutes.

Bert pressed gently on Mary's arm and smiled knowingly. "Come on down," he had whispered. "I won't let you fall." With a sigh, Mary snapped quietly, and dropped gently to the ground. Bert grinned and ordered another round of drinks.

Which brings us to our second point. Mary Poppins has a very large passion for rum punch. Unfortunately, she has a very, _very_ low tolerance for alcohol.

After a few drinks, Mary was feeling rather light-headed. This, in turn, was causing her to trip more. Bert, luckily, was able to handle his drinks a bit better.

"Easy there, Miss Poppins," he said as she swayed when she stood up. "I think we'd better get you home."

So the two started off, Mary constantly stumbling, whether from the heels, the alcohol, or a combination of both. "Bert? You know I'll be leaving soon, right?" Her voice was still the same, but her words had started to slur just the slightest bit.

"The kids are ready, then?" He asked her, leading her to the ladder that led to the rooftops. She looked at the ladder with disdain, clutched Bert's arm with one hand, and snapped her fingers with the other.

The two rose up into the air and onto the rooftops, where Mary set the pair down none too gently. Bert raised an eyebrow.

"You don' do too well wit' drinks, do ya'?" he asked her gently. Mary's already pink face flushed a bit more.

"I'm getting there." She said, shaking her head regretfully. Shaking her head made her dizzy, and she sat down by Bert's feet. Bert sat down next to her with a sigh.

"Beautiful night, ain't it, Mary."

"Mm. Very nice."

"Golly. Look at those stars." Mary sighed and rested her head on Bert's shoulder. They stared up at the stars in silence for a long while.

"_Mary. You shouldn't be doing this." _The wind whispered in Mary's ear. The breeze picked up, and the cool air helped Mary's head clear. Suddenly she blinked, and realized exactly what she was doing.

(This is Mary's third-and most hated- fault. She has a very hard time with anything involving change or feelings. Bert and Mary were friends. This was edging towards dangerous territory. Mary wasn't sure she was ready for something like this.)

She scrambled to her feet, and- of course- tripped. She nearly went careening off the rooftops before Bert caught her. As soon as she caught her balance, she dropped Bert's arm like she had been electrocuted. Bert understood instantly, and his face fell before he could mask his feelings.

"Sorry, Mary." Mary stared at him, wide-eyed. "Ach, come on, Mary. I di'nt mean anything by 't. We're both drunk, and I- gosh, Mary. I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. His expression was filled by such hurt bewilderment that Mary had to take pity.

"I'm sorry, Bert. I'm not mad. It was my fault. We've both had too much rum punch, and I lost my head for a moment." The relief in Bert's face was evident. He exhaled, and smiled tightly.

"Well then. Let's get you home." Mary took the two down, taking care to set them down gently this time. Bert walked her to the front door, chuckling softly at her clumsiness. Before he said good-bye, he dug a small vial out of his jacket.

"Hangover remedy. It's not magic, but it'll do the trick. I don't envy the 'eadache you'll 'ave tomorrow." Mary nodded in thanks and took the glass bottle, tucking it into her pocket.

"Night, Mary." Mary smiled, and put a gloved hand on his cheek.

"Goodnight, Bert. Sorry about-"Mary trailed off, for once unsure of what to say. Bert ducked his head in acknowledgement.

"My fault. Goodnight, Mary Poppins." With a smile, Bert tipped his hat and walked into the darkness. Mary stared after him and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Bert. Thank you. So much. I had a wonderful time. I'm so glad I have you." She mumbled under her breath. "Bother." With that, she turned and walked inside.

No one is perfect. Mary Poppins is clumsy. Mary Poppins doesn't cope well with alcohol. Mary Poppins hates showing the world that she has feelings. Mary Poppins hates that things have to change. And Mary Poppins is afraid of losing the people closest to her. She'd never admit it, but all these things are true. No one is perfect. Everyone has their quirks, their faults, their _imperfections._ It's just a bit harder to notice Mary Poppins', _almost_ practically perfect in every way.

****

Feed the birds. Mary Poppins has a secret. True, it's not a very well kept secret, but she still calls it a secret. Ever since Mary Poppins was five years old, she has been able to talk to birds.

_Mary Poppins sat in the little tree outside Uncle Albert's house and stared down at the street. She sighed and put her chin in her hands, slumping over, waiting for something interesting to happen._

_Above her, two birds watched her. "Is she ready?" One asked. _

"_She's as ready as she'll ever be." The other replied. The bird sighed- as much as a bird _can_ sigh. _

"_All right, then." The bird fluttered down to land on the branch next to Mary._

"_Hello." Mary started, blinking furiously and looking around quickly. "Right here. Do you understand me?" Mary's head whipped toward the bird._

"_Did you just talk?" She asked the bird. _

"_Hello. My name is…oh dear." Little Mary Poppins had fallen out of the tree in shock._

_*_

_Mary Poppins sat safely on the ground, her ankle still sore from falling out of the tree. "You mean I can talk to birds?" The bird dipped its head._

"_You certainly can." Mary frowned._

"_I.. I don't understand you. I can hear you talking, but I don't understand the words." The sparrow frowned._

_"We'll work on that. Don't worry your pretty little head. It's been a while." Mary frowned._

_"I don't understand. I don't get it!" She stood up and stormed inside, the effect ruined by her bad ankle. She hobbled through the door and slammed it behind her. The lark lit down from its perch above._

_"I'll find her a teacher."_

_*_

_Mary Poppins followed the birds, laughing as they darted in and out of her grasp. A few lit on her shoulders for an instant before wheeling into the sky. _

_The group landed on the pavement, and she tumbled to the ground beside them, giggling breathlessly. A voice made her look up._

_"Mary Poppins? What are you doing here?" It was Mary Poppins' former nanny, Ms. Julie._

_"I was following the birdies. They said to go this way." Mary said quietly. Ms. Julie's eyes widened._

_"Can you hear them, sweetheart? Can you hear them talking?" Mary nodded. A lark landed on Ms. Julie's shoulder and peeped into her ear. She listened closely, and then helped the little girl up._

_"Well, then. I think we have some lessons to learn."_

_*_

_Twelve-year-old Mary Poppins sat in a tree in the woods, talking and listening to her friends chatter away. Sparrows, larks, and robins soared above her, proclaiming the day's gossip. _

_Over the years Mary had been accepted by the neighborhood birds. Over time she came to understand the language and the different dialects that came along with it. _

_A kite she had been watching suddenly broke loose from its string and came plunging down toward her. It crashed a few feet away, stirring up a storm of indignant squawks _

_As Mary calmed her friends down, a boy came running into the clearing, led by a small group of sparrows. When he saw her up in the tree his eyes widened, and he stopped still._

_"Erm… do ya' think you cu'ld get tha' kite down fo' me?" The boy said at last. Mary sighed and deftly untangled the kite from the tree. She dropped it, than came down after it quickly, dropping the last few feet to land in front of the boy._

_"Thanks." The boy muttered, turning a bit pink. _

_"My pleasure." Mary replied, suddenly equally unsure of what exactly to do next. She should introduce herself, she realized. The boy beat her to it._

_"Herbert Alfred." He told her, holding out his hand. Mary took it, and they shook. His grip was firm, very confident, even if he was a bit dirty._

_"Mary Poppins. It's a pleasure to meet you, Herbert." The boy- Herbert flushed again._

_"Bert, Miss Poppins. I'm only Herbert on Sundays." Mary laughed, a high, tinkling laugh that made the birds chirp in harmony._

_"Bert, than. And I'm Mary. Miss Poppins is my aunt." Bert laughed, and stuck his kite under his arm. A bird lit onto his shoulder, and he looked at it in surprise._

_"I like this one, Mary." The bird told his human friend. Mary laughed again._

_"He likes you." Bert looked at the bird again, and a faint smile touched his face._

_"I think birds are smarter than people, 'n some respects."_

_*_

_Mary walked quickly through the streets, forcing Michael and Jane to trot beside her. "Come along, now. We have errands to run and things to do before the day is done." As they neared St. Paul's cathedral, it was Mary instead who stopped._

_"Look, Mary Poppins! It's the Bird Lady!" Michael whispered. Jane giggled, and Mary's head snapped up. _

_"I'll have you know that-" but then she stopped and trailed off. Mary Poppins never explained anything. _

_"It isn't polite to whisper and point." She said instead. Jane and Michael quickly withdrew their pointing fingers and stuck their hands in their pockets. Mary held out tuppence for each of them._

_"Go buy a bag." She told them quietly. Michael took the coin without hesitation. Jane stuck the coin in her pocket. _

_As Michael fed the birds, Mary stared at the bird lady. Jane could have sworn that Mary recognized the woman- but that was impossible, right?_

_As Michael emptied his bag, Mary shook herself from her daze. "All right then, spit spot, let's go! We're off to visit your father." Mary Poppins gathered her charges and led them off. Jane glanced back to where the Bird Lady sat on the steps. For a second, Jane was convinced that the woman had mouthed "Mary Poppins," either to herself or as if to call her back._

_*_

Mary checked her watch, then glanced up at the sky. She had time. There was still maybe ten minutes before the wind would carry her off again.

She thought about turning back, for one last goodbye to Bert- again- but changed her mind. It was better to leave things like this.

She thought about taking off early, but it was better to travel with the wind. She could keep her sense of direction better, and it was less tiring. Besides, she had to time it just right so Michael and Jane would get a last look at her before she flew over their house.

No, she had time. She'd better make it count.

In the dark streets, Mary picked up the pace until she was trotting towards St. Paul's Cathedral. A few lone pigeons fluttered through the streets, muttering to themselves. Mary smiled briefly at the chatter, but didn't pause.

She reached the square in record time, at a few points flat-out sprinting in order to make it before she had to leave.

Mary Poppins skidded to a halt in front of the Bird Lady, Ms. Julie, Mary's former nanny. Ms. Julie smiled pleasantly at her former charge.

"Feed the birds?" She asked. Mary blinked at her.

"Ms. Julie? It's Mary. Mary Poppins." The older woman frowned, her forehead wrinkling.

"Feed the birds? Tuppence a bag?" Mary examined the woman more closely. She looked more haggard than before, less than the person she had been before. And then Mary had it; something had gone wrong. She didn't know what, she didn't know why, but something wasn't right about Ms. Julie anymore.

Mary dug a coin from her purse with trembling hands. "I can't stay, Ms. Julie. I need to go. But I'll be back. In the meantime, tell the birds I say hello." Her teacher and friend took the coin and opened a bag. As Mary ran from the square, she began to scatter the seeds around the square.

As Mary ran, her thoughts whirled. One of the few people she knew that had kept the ability to talk to birds had gone mad. No, not gone mad. Her gift had turned on her, the way it happened to so many others.

Is that would Mary would be reduced to? Just a confused old woman who couldn't fly or take care of others or talk to her friends among the birds and the stars and the trees? Was it just a neverending cycle of magic gained and lost?

In the midst of her worries, she managed to check her watch. Time. As she opened her umbrella, a familiar voice sounded in her ear.

"You won't be like that, Mary. We'll make sure of it. She didn't have the people you have," her parrot-umbrella told her.

"And who do I have?" Mary asked it as they ascended over the rooftops. She straightened her clothes, smudged from her late-night run.

"You have me, of course. You have the animals, the birds, the stars, and your family. You have Uncle Albert, Mrs. Corry, and the constellations.

"And you have your human friends. There's always the Banks family. They care for you, now, just like one of their own. And then there's Bert. He won't let you lose control like that." Mary blushed slightly.

"No more of that talk." The parrot shrugged- well, as much as a wooden figure can shrug. Than he was still, and Mary was calm.

She soared over the rooftops and up into the night, with the wind to guide her, and the birds to keep her company.

**For those that are wondering, all the italics were flashbacks or such. Something like that. The last one takes place right after Mary leaves Bert at the end of the play, and before she flies out. As for Ms. Julie? (smirk smirk JULIE Andrews couldn't resist) She could talk to birds like Mary. She overreached her abilities and went a bit cuckoo. **

**Next up: A and R: Accents and Revoir (as in Au Revior) See y'all next week!**


	6. Say Au Revoir with an Accent Now

***JUNE 24TH UPDATE* Okeydokey, I FINALLY found my zip drive. This is the real chapter. Sorry!!**

_Mary and Bert trotted down the street, talking and chatting just like always. It started to pour and Mary popped open her umbrella._

_She and Bert stayed under the umbrella, watching as yet another memory unfolded before them. _

_They saw themselves over by a streetlamp, in the middle of a thunderstorm. Mary had her umbrella and was perfectly dry, while Bert danced around in the rain. Soot was washing off him, making rivers of gray fall off him. He was laughing and splashing through puddles. Mary was watching with an eyebrow raised, trying very hard not to smile._

"_Ach, come on, Mary!" Bert called, his accent clear. It always came through more clearly when he was excited or anxious. Mary bit her lip in hesitation. _

_Bert took that moment to snatch Mary's umbrella and make a break for it. "Au Revoir, Mary! I'll just b' takin' this, then. If ya' don't mind, o'course." He said with a wide grin on his face. Mary glared, than finally relented and chased him through the rain. _

_They shrieked as they ran through puddles, cringed at the booming thunder, and laughing as they swerved and dodged in a very wet game of tag. _

_Mary finally gave up, and making sure no one was watching, she snapped her fingers and sent the umbrella flying back into her grasp. Bert glared. "Now that just ain't fair." _

_Mary chuckled, a self-satisfied smile making its way across her face. "I know. Au revoir now, Bert." _

**Revoir**: Mary Poppins hates to say good-bye. She only says good-bye when it's forever. Oh, she'll say the words, but she rarely ever means them. Her dance partner once said, "I do not say good-bye, for I know we will meet again. So farewell." Mary thought that the idea was a good one, and has since kept that philosophy quite well.

When she thinks about it, she can count her true good-byes on one hand. Two were to her family. No, make that three- as she left her home for good, one of her sisters spotted her. One good-bye is still left to be said; but that is a story for another day.

So instead of saying good-bye, she says 'au revoir'. It's a nice little French phrase. Simply put, it means 'until we meet again'. That's an important distinction, because, more often than not, Mary comes back.

Nearly every time she leaves a charge's home, she says 'au revior'. Of course, sometimes she doesn't say anything, just leaves in a gust of wind or on a swirling carousel. There has been a time or two when she's said good-bye, when the child is too young to remember Mary the next time she returns, or when the wind will be taking her somewhere else entirely, with very little chance of ever returning.

Au Revior is a much simpler way of putting things. She says good-bye without _really _saying good-bye. It works for her. It may drive the people who don't know her very well crazy, but that's not really her problem, now is it?

But the people who know her well- they get it. Jane and Michael had it figured out. They saw the 'until we meet again' for what it was. Mary Poppins was lucky with them. She never had to say good-bye, and hopefully she wouldn't for a long, long time.

And as for Bert? At the end of her stay on Cherry Tree Lane? The words 'good' and 'bye' might have passed her lips. In that order. She find she can't tell Bert 'au revoir'. It's exactly the kind of glib answer she gives everyone else; Bert deserves better than that. So she says good-bye, even though she doesn't truly mean it. She knows she'll be back someday, because she wouldn't be able to bear it if she never saw her best friend again. And what's London without Mary and Bert? Just another city, one who has lost its magical spark.

There is a place for good-byes, and a place for au revoirs. And then there is always a place for farewell (which in Mary's opinion is a perfectly good word. It's a shame it went out of fashion.) in Mary's heart.

So the next time you cross paths with a young woman with ebony-black hair and ice-blue eyes, say "au revoir" as you leave.

Odds are, she'll turn and look at you, one eyebrow raised and her face as stern as ever. But, if you peer closely at her, you might catch a glimmer of a smile tugging at her lips and the corners of her eyes.

With that this little secret of a Miss Mary Poppins has been well and truly revealed. There is only one thing left to say: au revoir, until we meet again!

**Accent: **While we're exploiting all of Mary's secrets, we may as well give away one more thing. Mary absolutely adores different accents. They are a very important part of a person's personality. In all her travels, she's found that the accent nearly always matches the person.

Whenever this train of thought enters her head, she automatically remembers a conversation she had with Bert a little while back.

They had been talking about something meaningless. She couldn't remember exactly. Maybe it was something personal, and she seized upon the first available topic. Maybe his accent was just stronger that day, as it sometimes was.

Whatever the reason, Mary said, "You know, I truly do like your accent." Bert looked at her in confusion.

"Wha' accent?"

"The way you talk. It's different." Bert stared at her.

"Wha' d' ya mean?"

"It's not a _bad_ thing. It's just different. I was just commenting and-"

"Mary. I'm jokin'." Mary blushed.

"Sorry. So quick was I not to give offense I ended up taking offense too easily." Bert laughed, long and hard. Before long Mary joined in, breaking into giggles.

After a few moments Bert sobered up. "Ya' know, if there's anyone wit' the funny accents, it's you London folk. Nobody talks like ya' where I come from." Mary blinked.

"I don't have an accent." She told him in her very prim British accent. Bert rolled his eyes.

"Ya' do too. I've neva' met any other folk who call the bathroom the _loo._" Mary considered for a moment, and gave him the point.

"It's not my fault! Normally I don't have much of an accent! It's when people talk about me talking in an accent that I- oh, forget it." Bert had broken into laughter again, flopping backward into his chair until it nearly tipped over. Mary bit back a grin and focused her attention on her tea.

Bert suddenly stopped laughing and stared at her with wide eyes. "Ya know who has _really _weird accents? " Mary played along, putting down her tea and returning his wide-eyed stare.

"Who?"  
"Americans."

**While I still have your attention, I need a title and an opinion or two. **

**So last friday Peter Pan numero dos was on. Which (of course) got me in the mood to write Peter Pan crud. Look for that coming soon. BUT, I also got an idea for a Peter P/ Mary P oneshot. The only thing I need is a title. Here's the summary:**

**"Peter has a nasty habit of forgetting his adventures. So naturally, he forgot that before Wendy, there was another girl in Neverland. She never was a mother. She was a friend, a true lost girl. But because of her, Peter had the make the hardest choice of his life. Before Margaret, before Jane, before Wendy, there was Mary."**

**2. Those that know me know that I've solemnly sworn not to dabble into the world of Harry Potter. My personal opinion was that J.K. Rowling's world simply couldn't be messed with. Now? I'm having second thoughts. Who would be interested in a MP/HP crossover??**

**This is what I get for reading stuff that takes place in London. Work, work, work for me. ;) **

**Cocoa**


	7. Indescribable Gentlemen

**It's been forever (again), I know. Been busy with tons of other stuff. Please excuse little mistakes, brain is still fuzzy from going to the MIDNIGHT SHOWING OF HALF-BLOOD PRINCE!!!!!!! Loved it, go see it...ect.**

**Before I forget, the previous chapter is all fixed, and is dedicated to jedigirl627 who endlessly annoys me with her random British accent. (she's been to London ONCE. And watches Doctor Who obsessively. And other BBC stuff. Wave hello to the pretty readers, Nika.)**

**Disclaimer: I'm not P.L. Travers. For instance, I don't even think my grandparents were alive in the 1930s.**

_The rain poured around them, and Mary and Bert huddled under the umbrella. The closeness set Mary on her toes, but she didn't really want to get wet. It was a matter of being uncomfortably close or getting wet. It was too hard of a decision to make._

_Somewhere along the line, their eyes met. Blue met brown, and Mary couldn't look away. Bert's eyes held something she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was a slight smile on his face, and she could see herself reflected in his eyes._

_Suddenly, the spell was broken, and Bert blinked. He looked down to where his hands were wrapped around Mary's, which were holding the umbrella. His smile grew bigger as he dropped his hands and bowed to Mary._

"_The umbrella's all yours, m' lady." He said in mock solemnity. With that he took off into the rain, whooping and laughing. Mary watched him, a smile spreading across her own face. _

"_Come 'n, Mary!" Bert yelled. Mary gave up with a sigh, closed her umbrella, and propped it up along the fence. Then she took off after Bert, chasing him through the rain. _

_Just as she finally caught up to Bert, she slipped and nearly fell into one of the larger puddles. Strong arms caught her, and Bert's face appeared dizzyingly close to hers. Mary struggled to catch her breath, either from the fall or from exactly how close Bert was to her. _

"_Always a gentleman, Bert," she managed to say at last. Bert chuckled quietly, still not pulling her back up._

"_Mary, Mary, Mary," he said, mock scolding. "What are we going to do with you?" With one quick pull he pulled her up and spun her around. Impulsively, he pulled her into a hug. "You're indescribable, Mary." He whispered, so quietly she couldn't be sure if it was just her imagination. "Indescribable."_

**Gentlemen.** Mary Poppins firmly believes in the existence of English Gentlemen. They are relatively uncommon in today's time and age, but quite delightful creatures once you get to know them.

Of course, there is no such thing as the _perfect_ English Gentlemen. Nobody is truly perfect, English or otherwise. Mary herself is only practically perfect. So maybe there is a practically perfect gentleman somewhere. She'd even settle for an _almost _practically perfect gentleman.

Then again, we weren't talking about Mary and her experiences with those puzzling creatures called gentlemen. That will come later. For now let's talk about society's standards for a Gentleman.

Society dictates that a perfect Gentleman should be:

**Polite- holding open doors for ladies, have good manners, ect.**

**Well-Dressed – Not necessarily a dandy, but at least wear nice clothes.**

**Ambitions- To have high goals for himself and his family, hardworking, ect.**

**Charming- Charismatic, most definitely. Kindness would be a good bonus.**

**Rich- Have a lot of money either by working or just by inheritance.**

**Doting- Protective of his family, and always ready to shower them with gifts.**

Above all, a perfect English Gentleman must have a Good Reputation. Good Reputations are the most important thing for a perfect Gentleman to have.

Society's Gentleman do not show their true feelings. They do not make mistakes. If a mistake is made, they either hide it, gloss over it, or – in most cases – blame it on someone else.

Mary should know- she spent a good part of her life under such a Gentleman's careful control.

Mary knows several of these English Gentlemen. Mr. Banks is a good example. Lately, though, he has begun to slip into what he was meant to be. Free from the influence of others, he has begun to care more about his family than his job. Mary may have nudged him in this direction a bit, but she is quite proud: he came around mostly on his own.

Mary's idea of a Gentleman is quite different than the traits listed above Oh, she'll recognize society's gentlemen, but she has better standards.

Here follows Mary's definition of a Perfect Gentleman.

***Knowing- as in knowing about her gifts. It's too big a part of her- she could never bear having to hide it from someone she loved.**

***Kind- explains itself, doesn't it?**

***Hardworking- she really doesn't care about the money-they could make do- but it's nice to have a good work ethic.**

***Good sense of humor- again, explains itself. Someone that can make her laugh.**

***Patient- patient until she figured out that she cared, patient enough to wait for her, ready to watch the skies whenever she was away.**

***Doesn't press his advantage- pretty self-explanatory. Just because she cares for him doesn't mean he can be all over her or manipulate her feelings.**

***Smart- He doesn't have to be a genius. Just someone to match wits with her when she needs to keep her mind off something.**

***Caring-again, self-explanatory.**

***Likes kids- it just wouldn't work if he didn't. For reasons she can't explain, she _has_ to be around kids- but that is a story for another day.**

***Someone she can be herself around- both in the magical sense and who she is as a person.**

***Tall- okay, this is a little embarrassing, but Mary just has a fixation with tall men. It makes her blush, but it's just one of those little facts about her.**

***Protective- would do anything for her, even if she didn't need help.**

Mary normally has to stop herself here. If she lets herself keep going, she starts putting things like 'brown eyes' and 'chimney sweep'.

And before she knows it, well, she's describing Bert.

**Indescribable** is one of those words that is a bit abstract. It's one of those words like 'magical' 'good' 'bad' and so on.

Mary has a bit of trouble with those kind of abstract words. Most things can be described a bit better. For example, what she does isn't 'magic'. It's a skill that she's had since birth. She can do it, some people can't. It's similar to being able to lick your elbow. Mary can't do it, but Jane Banks can. To Mary, something like that could be magical, just as a simple walk in the park could be magical.

So she has a bit of difficulty when someone calls her indescribable. You can describe Mary. She's a bit short, she has black hair and blue eyes, she has a passion for rum punch, she's kind, she can be just a bit sarcastic, she isn't at all graceful, and she always has a parrot-headed umbrella at her side.

Those things describe Mary. So she doesn't like it when people call her indescribable. Nearly everyone can be described in some way. Jane Banks is prone to giggling, Michael Banks is constantly getting into trouble. Mrs. Banks can be a little melodramatic. Mr. Banks can be a bit of a workaholic.

The only person she truly has trouble describing is Bert.

Mr. Herbert Alfred. Mr. Alfred. Herbert. Bert. And (on one occasion when they were both a bit tipsy) Bertie-Boy.

How do you describe someone like Bert? How does one describe your best friend? You can use the petty terms like 'brown eyes' 'nice' 'sweet', but you never get to the core.

Bert says that Mary Poppins is indescribable. Mary says that Bert Alfred is indescribable. Maybe they're both right. Maybe they're both wrong. Maybe sooner or later they'll find the words that truly describe the other.

Indescribable is a bit of a loose term. It can be used for people, places, objects, events. A walk in the park can be indescribable. So can a kiss. So can some of the people you meet day to day. Each one of us, in our own little ways, is indescribable.

**I quite like hinting to future chapters. Teeheee.... **

**I put a couple of ideas for MaryP crossover stories in the past chapter when I fixed it. Anyone wanna give me an opinion on those?**

**Next Chap: L and (yet another) I: London, and Independent. **

**P.S. one last question. I've been deliberating on a change. For T, would you rather have Temper or Temptation?**


	8. Independence in London

**Teehee next chapter! **

**thePureAlchemist, I've actually never seen Doctor Who, so it's not very likely I'd be writing a story about it. May I suggest jedigirl627's Ten Reasons Why Mary Poppins is a Time Lord, and chapter 10 of RainbowAquila's Moments With Mary? And RAINBOW YOU NEED TO UPDAAAATE THAT!!!!!!**

**Rainbow, you need to write that crossover. I will write my crossover when you write yours. Maybe. **

**And the overwhelming decision iiiiiiissss..... TEMPTATION!!! I need to figure out what I was going to do for it, though...**

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, I'd be rich. Which I'm not. So yeah.**

_Mary removed herself from Bert's arms with as much dignity as she could muster. Bert watched her, trying to decide if he should laugh or not. At the disgruntled look on her face, he decided it was probably in his best interests to keep quiet._

"_You all righ'?" He asked her quietly. She nodded curtly. Bert shrugged and fell into step alongside her. _

"_Where to next?" She asked softly. Bert shrugged again._

"_There's the 'ole of London t' explore. We can go wherever." Mary hesitated._

"_The rooftops, perhaps?" She asked. Bert grinned._

"_The rooftops it is." They set off down the street in the search of the nearest entrance to the rooftops above._

_After a moment or two, Mary said, mostly to herself, "I love London. Don't you?"_

"_Mmm," Bert agreed absently, glancing down an alley for a ladder._

"_That's not all that helpful- oh, for goodness' sakes. Here-" Mary snapped open her umbrella and stepped smartly into an alley. Bert followed her quickly, glancing both ways to make sure they wouldn't be seen. _

"_Come here, Bert," she said, beckoning him closer. Bert approached her warily. Mary rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and placed it around her waist. Bert eyed her curiously. "Don't get any ideas. It's easier if we're both under the umbrella. Now here we-" They soared up into the air and landed gently on the nearest rooftop._

_Their feet touched down, and Bert let go of Mary and the umbrella. Mary stumbled, and staggered as she attempted to catch her balance._

_Bert made to catch her, but Mary interrupted. "No, I can do it- oops!" She stumbled again, and nearly stepped off the roof. Her foot caught in the gutter, and she almost fell over backward if it weren't for Bert's steadying hand._

_He had a smile on his face. "Sometimes you're too stubborn for your own good, y' know." he told her. Mary grudgingly accepted his help._

"_I prefer to think of it as 'independent'," she told him frostily. Bert chuckled._

"_Independent. Sure, Mary. Whatever y' say."_

**London.** Mary Poppins loves London. London is her second home. London is a place where she's always belonged. London is a part of her.

The city of London is more than a cluster of buildings. It has a soul. It has a mind of its own. It prefers the company of some over others.

For instance, London takes special care of a Miss Mary Poppins. Whenever Mary happens to be in town, the skies are bluer, the grass is greener, and the places she frequents are always a bit more peaceful.

Mary Poppins adores London. Over time, she's come to know every inch of the city, from the ground and from the skies. Every loose cobblestone, every quiet coffeeshop, every statue in the park has a spot in her memory.

London always seems drearier when its favorite inhabitant is gone. It's a subtle change. The children are a bit fussier. The kites fly just a bit lower. The chimney sweeps aren't as cheery.

But, of course, for Mary, every place in London has a memory attached. The loose cobblestone is where she stumbled upon a chimney sweep's brush. The owner of the brush soon became a friend and brought her into the world of the rooftops. The coffeeshop is one of the very few places where she can feel alone. The statue of Peter Pan reminds her of the real Peter, the Peter Pan she knew ages ago.

Mary Poppins isn't London's only favorite person. It also helps along many of the forgotten people, especially the chimney sweeps. Especially a Mister Herbert Alfred. London nudges Bert towards the park to draw on the days when people with extra loose change happen to pass bye. It clears a place on the rooftops where he can wait for his favorite person to return home.

Mary Poppins loves London. Whenever she's without a job, she returns to her favorite place in the world. She's considering opening residence there, but what's the point? She'd be called away before long. So she contents herself with staying with Uncle Albert, calling in favors, or- if she's got a bit of pocket money- renting a flat for a day or two to spend nights. She spends most of her time in her favorite places: the park, the stores, and –on especially dreary days- Bert's flat.

Herbert Alfred loves London. He loves being a part of something bigger than just himself. He loves the thrill of standing on the rooftops over the most beautiful city in the world. He loves the people he's met here: the sweepers, the children, the always enchanting Mary Poppins.

London loves Mary and Bert. It's tried its best to nudge the two of them closer together. It gathers the rain clouds above them so Mary will open her umbrella for the two of them. It creates places for them to be together, alone. Someday, they'll take the hint.

And because of that, London will be a much brighter place.

**Independent.** Mary Poppins prides herself on her independence. Some- mostly Bert- may call it stubbornness, but she won't let herself depend on anyone but herself. She's found the hard way that many people will let her down, given the chance. Mary won't let that happen to her.

Mary doesn't like to get attached to people. As her Uncle Albert always said, "Practically Perfect People don't allow sentiment to muddle their thinking." Mary interprets this as saying if she gets too close to someone, she'll get dependent on others and won't be able to do what she wants. She may or not be correct, but she prefers to stick with this opinion anyway.

Mary loves her freedom. She can go where she chooses- when she's not on the job, of course- and has plenty of special talents. Besides, Mary loves her job. She trusts the wind to guide her. She's got her freedom, she's independent, and she's happy.

Yet… Mary isn't as independent as she would like. Something always ties her down, just a little bit. Somehow, she always winds up back in the same place. She doesn't mind, not really, but it still irks her a bit.

You see, something always draws Mary Poppins back to London. It's not something she dislikes, but it's hard, sometimes. Mary Poppins can't be truly dependent. She always returns to London. She's not sure why, or how, but something always draws her back home.

**Meh, I didn't like the Independent drabble as much. I did like London, though. I based it a teeny-weeny bit off of Amie C. Hicks' 'London' oneshot. Go read her 'Mary Poppins from A to Z'!! 'Tis AWESOME!!**

**I put in a not-so-subtle hint towards one of the ideas that's been in my head. I'm going to start writing the first chapter now (well, while I'm watching Aladdin, at least... :D)**

**No idea when the next chapter will be done, seeing as first day of high school is, um, tomorrow. Yikes. **

**Next chapter is... (spelling in head...) S and T: Sweepers and... Temptation!**

**Cocoa =D**


	9. Temptations amongst Sweepers

***12/5/09 Update because obviously I can't be bothered to edit when pasting directly from Write or Die onto a word document. And since that whole editing part of my brain must shut off completely around 8:30. Oh well. All is fixed.***

**Cocoa here, taking a quick break from life and all. Don't mind my absence. School started and then...well, now it's almost finals. Time flies, doesn't it?**

**Well.... seeing as I'm writing this as I'm watching Pirates of the Caribbean, don't be surprised if a little bit of our favorite Captain can be found in our favorite Sweeper. Oh well. Bringing you...Sweepers and Temptation!!**

_Mary gazed out over her lovely city. "What shall we do, Bert?" She asked light-heartedly. The giddy feeling that always accompianed her when she was up on the rooftops was starting to leak into her system, and she felt an infectious smile start to creep across her face. Bert watched this sudden mood swing warily as she settled down on the roof, her legs singing from the side of the roof. She accidentally kicked a window, and pulled her legs up quickly._

_"There's no one there, y' know," Bert reminded her sardonically. She flashed him a quick smile, and he grinned and hopped down beside her, humming "Chim Chim Cher-Ee" under his breath. Mary joined in for a bar or two, before kicking out her legs and leaning back to look up at the sky. _

_"Are any of the other sweepers here?" She asked randomly, watching a puff of smoke shoot up from the nearest chimney and disappear into the sky. Bert shook his head._

_"Jus' you and me," he said cheerfully, glancing across the cityscape. He rolled his neck easily and smiled down at her. "Shall we go gallivanting across the city, then?" Mary opened her eyes and stared up at him. His shadow blocked the sunlight quite effectively; she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not._

_"Tempting," she said quietly. "Very tempting." Bert's smile grew._

_"No one's gonna see ya'. It's really on'y you. I'm not real, remember?" Mary considered this for a second._

_"Right. Fair enough. Let's go." She sat up slowly, and Bert moved out of the way and helped her up. "Over the rooftops?"_

_"Over the rooftops," he agreed, and off they went._

**Sweepers.** Mary Poppins' favorite type of people isn't the children she always finds herself caring for. It's not the statues in the park, the townspeople, the delightfully quirky people she shows off to her charges.

No, Mary Poppins' favorite people happen to be the Chimney Sweeps. She loves the people, covered in soot though they be.

Mary can quite clearly remember the very first time she was introduced to the world of the Chimney Sweeps. It was the night that her world grew bigger, and the night she made some of her dearest friends.

_*_Mary Poppins walked down the street in a peaceful silence, shopping bags in hand. Her Night Out had gone quite well, all her errands done at a respectable hour. She might even have time for a stop at the park, she mused. She walked quickly down the walk, her bags swinging peacefully, the night cool and clear. There were only a few people out at this hour- it was starting to get late, after all. The children should be long abed by now- they probably weren't, Mary thought wryly.

The almost-heavy silence of the night was abruptly interrupted with a clatter. A young boy shot out of a door only a few feet in front of Mary, who stopped short, her bags swinging forward and nearly knocking her off balance. They nearly hit the boy as he stumbled and fell, something clattering on the street and bouncing just out of reach.

Automatically Mary dropped her bags to help the young boy. As she moved in front of the doorway she heard shrieks of anger. "Thief! Thief!" Mary looked down at the boy, seeing him for the first time, the dropped object forgotten in her hand.

He was younger than she was, but not quite a child. Maybe fourteen, or somewhere around there. His face was smeared in soot, and his eyes were wide. "P-please, ma'm. I-" She cut him off quickly after a sideways glance at the object in her hand. It was a chimney sweeper's brush. His brush.

"Did you take anything from that store?" She asked quickly and quietly. He shook his hand.

"N-no. I was just looking, 'onest! I-"

"Come along, then. Spit-spot. Take my hand," she ordered firmly, holding out her free hand to him. He looked at her for a second, battle raging behind his eyes. He nodded once and took her hand, pulling himself up.

"Your brush," Mary said sharply, pressing it into his hand. He reached back blindly and snatched two of her bags, reaching across himself to press them into her free hand.

"Yer bags," he said, in the same no-nonsense tone. Mary bit back just a hint of a smirk.

"Alright. Let's go." They set off walking quickly, not looking back at the scene behind them. "Don't look back, don't let go of my hand," Mary said quietly. He squeezed her hand once to show he understood.

"Can you alert your friends to your situation?" She asked, still in the same quiet tone. The boy nodded, and abruptly broke into a loud whistle. A sharp scold was halfway through her lips before she recognized a whistle she had often heard on her nighttime trips over the London sky. So she let him carry on whistling, though she had to admit it irked her.

A commotion behind her alerted her to the presence of someone coming up on them- quickly. The boy stiffened, ready to run, but Mary gripped his hand tighter.

"If you run you'll get caught," she said sharply, although even more quietly than before. "No matter what happens, _do not let go._ Understand?" He nodded again, and took one of her bags.

"Let m' carry that fo' you, Aunt-" He hesitated for the slightest second, suddenly unsure.

"Mary!" she hissed.

"-Mary! Yer arms must b' gettin' tired," he continued, smiling gratefully. His accent wasn't as noticeable if he tried, Mary noticed in the corner of her mind.

"Thank you, -" and now she was the one lost, no idea what to call this grey-faced stranger.

"Jack."

"Jack?" she breathed.

"It's me name, wha' do ya' want me to do 'bout it?" He shot back. Mary had no replied, and decided not to finish her previous comment.

"Ma'm?" A strong voice behind her called. Mary stopped and looked over her shoulder, whjere a burly policeman was coming up behind her. Out of the corner of her eye Mary saw Jack slip his brush into her bag slowly.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked pleasantly, turning to face the man.

"Heard rumors of a scoundrel around here. Has this boy been bothering you?" He asked, fixing his gaze on Jack. Mary scoffed derisively.

"This _boy _is my nephew. He asked to come along on some errands and it was alright with his parents, so I let him join me. He's been an excellent help- goodness knows I'd be able to get all these bags home by myself!" She waved her hand around to prove her point, accidentally dropping Jack's hand in the motion.

The policeman's gaze shot to Jack's face again, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why-" Mary snapped quickly, and grabbed hold of Jack's hand before he could sprint away. The policeman's face cleared, and he blinked in confusion.

"Well then, miss, I won't be bothering you any longer. Do you need any assistance with your bags?" He asked politely. Mary shook her head, a smile tugging on her lips. She suppressed it with difficulty.

"No, thank you. Come along, Jack," she said crisply, turning on her heel and trotting off, Jack almost jogging to keep up with her.

"_Don't_ look back," she said quickly, as his head tilted to glance behind.

*

"Thank ye'," Jack said, possibly for the thousandth time _without exaggeration_, Mary thought wryly.

"It's no trouble. Now, where are your- ah, there we are," Two or three sweepers had appeared out of the shadows, and Jack's face had lit up at the sight. "These are my friends," he told Mary, dropping her hand, retrieving his brush, and darting off toward them. Once he was safely beside them, he completely relaxed. One of the sweepers put an arm around his shoulder, and Mary realized that here he looked even more like a child than when he was out alone.

"Thank you for yer troubles, ma'm," one of them said politely. Mary smiled.

"No trouble at all. I just couldn't let him stand by and get into trouble." It was true- she couldn't stand the way some people treated sweepers. Just because they didn't have the luxury of a consistent job didn't mean they weren't people, too.

"Still- 'ere, Jim'll take yer bags," the first one said, gesturing to the second boy- for that was really all they were, boys, maybe her age, maybe not.

"Is there something else?" Mary asked, discreetly checking the time.

"If it's no trouble, we'd like t' take ya' up on the rooftops- our friend would like t' thank ye." Jim said easily. Mary shrugged. She still had time, and certainly had nothing better to do.

"No trouble at all." and with that, Jim led her into the shadows and gestured to a ladder. She looked at it disdainfully, and her hand closed around her umbrella.

"If you don't mind-" and up she flew. It was amazing how easily she had given up her most precious secret, but she felt safer with this group of people than she did with the rest of the Londoners she associated with.

They didn't say anything, just climbed up the ladder after her, and off they went.

*

They had been walking for a while now, hopping roofs every so often- Mary sometimes flew, and sometimes she was helped across by Jack, Jim, or Will, as the first man introduced himself. They walked, talking as they went. Will, Jack, and Jim kept up an easy conversation, and soon Mary found herself joining in, hesitantly at first, and then more and more, her answers becoming more confident and less forced.

They stopped abruptly, on an unfamiliar residence. Mary leaned over the rooftop to check the address, and nearly toppled off the roof- she didn't have the best sense of balance.* Jack steadied her quickly.

"We're at 17 Cherry Tree Lane- not far from where yer stayin', right?" He asked her. Mary nodded, checking her sense of direction quickly. Time was ticking away, and it wouldn't do to be late.

"Don't worry- it won' be long now. Bert jus' wants t' say 'ello." Will reassured her. Mary started at the name.

"Bert?"

"Bert." This voice came from behind them, and Mary whirled around to see a familiar figure leaning easily against the chimney.

"Bert!" Jim, Jack, and Will all started, spinning round to face their friend. Bert grinned, tipping his hat toward them. His attention focused in on Jack, who was standing on the very left, and his smile faded.

"I 'ear you've been gettin' in some trouble, now." Jack hung his head.

"Sorry, sir. It won't 'appen again, I swear-"

"Tha's enough, kid. Don't worry. And don' call me sir. It makes me feel old." The easy smile was back, and Jack sighed in relief. "All righ', go on you three. I just want t' say a few words to Ms. Poppins here and then I'll be on me way."

"Wait- Ms. Poppins?" Jack said, taking a closer look at Mary. She blushed and shot a glare at Bert.

"Was that _really _necessary?" He shrugged, flashing her another glimpse of his grin.

"All righ', go on now." Bert simply said, choosing to ignore Mary's complaint and just keep moving forward. With a few words of goodbye, the three were gone and Mary was left alone with Bert.

Mary and Bert had met in passing, although weren't the good friends they'd soon come to be. (In fact, if she remembered correctly- and Mary never forgot a face- this was the night that they truly started to connect.) Mary looked at her shoes, suddenly shy, and Bert stared fixedly out over the city.

"Thank's for bringin' 'im back. Some folk's would've just left 'im there. 'E's a good kid, new t' this life. S'not his fault." Bert said, tilting his head toward the retreating figures. Mary smiled.

"He is a good child. Much better than my current charges," she commented, the words out before she could stop herself. She bit her tongue sharply, then gasped in pain. "ow," she added quietly.

Bert chuckled. "All righ'?" Mary nodded, berating herself mentally. "Well, I s'pose you ought t' be gettin' home, then. Y' need help gettin' down?" Mary shook her head and gestured toward her umbrella. "Ah, righ'. Forgot. All righ', I'll just watch, then." He gestured toward the edge of the roof, and Mary smiled.

"Thank you. Will I be seeing you in the park anytime soon?" From the long pause, she almost thought she'd gone too far. Then she heard Bert's low chuckles rumbling like thunder.

"Whenever you're 'eaded that way, I'll be there. Jus' you see. Goodbye, Ms. Poppins."

"-Mary," she corrected automatically. A pause, and then she repeated herself, more shyly. "It's Mary." Bert's teeth glinted like stars.

"Mary, then. Goodnigh', Mary."

"Goodnight, Bert," Mary said, as she stepped out into the sky.

"Oh, and Mary?" Bert called, a few seconds later. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Maple Lane's tha' way," he reminded her, pointing the opposite way.

"Right. Thank you." Mary was quite grateful for the night that hid her cheeks that were just a bit rosier than normal.

*

Mary adores the sweepers. Ever since that first night, the sweepers have been her guides, her confidants, her _friends_. It doesn't matter that they're poor, unkept, often covered in soot and most definitely below her in status- they're her friends. They're kind, loyal, friendly, and accepting of all, no matter their origin or what nightmare they're coming from.

They took in Jack, a thief turned respectable when he lost everything worth fighting for.

They took in Will, an orphan boy roaming the streets after his orphanage burned down.

They adopted a Miss Mary Poppins, a young woman just looking for a family after she lost everything. She really wasn't all that different from Jack, from Will, from all the soot-covered, cheerful, freedom-seeking sweepers. She really wasn't that different from them all, and that's why she loved them, down to the last little boy barely big enough to carry a brush. She really wasn't that different from them all. She wasn't all that different from- from Bert.

**Temptation**. As much as Mary would like it to be so, she isn't perfect. We've already established this, haven't we? She's uncoordinated, terrified of change, has an ungodly low tolerance for alcohol, and refuses to believe that she might be able to let others in once in a while. But there is still one more thing that we must blackmail our favorite Ms. Poppins with now, isn't there?

Mary Poppins, although she likes to pretend she's practically perfect, has a weakness she refuses to acknowledge, even though it can be glaringly obvious at times. And no, it isn't her sometimes-useless sense of direction. No, Mary Poppins is a sucker for temptation.

If it's not suitable for her to do, you can almost guarantee that she's done it. Well, no, that's a lie. Mary Poppins does have her morals, mind you. Although, her morals may be a bit looser than some others.

Keep in mind that Mary has never technically done anything _bad_. It's just- how many ladies do you know that consistently associate with chimney sweeps? How many sing- loudly? How many snap constantly? If she need go even further, how many _fly?_ Her point has henceforth been proven.

Mary proudly holds the record amongst the chimney sweeps for most cups of tea consumed at one sitting- 9. Bert gave up, laughing, halfway through his eighth. He then beat her soundly at shooting rum punch and they all woke up the next morning extremely hungover.

She is more comfortable around the sweepers- mostly men her age, mind you- than other women and the people a proper young lady should associate with. She doesn't care. Given half the chance, she will race across the rooftops and quite possibly beat a few of the faster sweeps- Bert and the younger boys always win.

Mary is always tempted to let go of her inhibitions, to stop worrying, and to let herself be free, if only around the sweepers. There's always something that holds her back, just barely, but it's there, and she can't shake it off, no matter how she tries.

There's something in her that longs to let go of everything holding her back, and to join the ranks of the sweeps forever. It's not totally unheard of- women have drifted in and out of the ranks, and some of the older men have wives- but she can't just abandon her mission- to help every child in need.

She's looking for the child that will set her free, the one she's been looking for ever since she was just old enough to start work. She hasn't found him yet, and therefore she can't stop, no matter how much she wants to.

Still, there are times when the temptation's so strong, it's all she can do to walk away, albeit looking back over her shoulder as she goes. Her steps are hesitant, but she walks away, however hard it may be, however strong the pulling is to turn around and never leave again. Sometimes she slips- like the night at the part. That night it was harder than it had ever been before to walk away.

She's always tempted- so, so tempted so much it hurts-, but she always denies herself, a game she plays with herself that she'll never win, a discipline that she hates but does anyway. There are times when she'd do anything, anything at all, to forget the face that haunts her and to be happy right here.

There are times when she'd to anything to wrap her arms around Bert and never never _ever _let go.

**Well...that was fun. Temptation was actually easier to write than I thought it was going to be- maybe it's a bit too much stream-of-conscious, but it was fun! :D  
In case you couldn't tell, Sweepers has been planned FOREVER. And if you're wondering why I didn't write it sooner- well...**

**I wrote a novel. In a month. NaNoWriMo-ers, anyone? 50,000 words, one month? No? Well, I did...hehe..**

***When did we all decide that Mary has no sense of balance? I wonder. Oh well. It's more than a little entertaining to torment her. **

**I suppose that you can all tell that I watched Pirate's of the Caribbean while writing this... (Captain) Jack didn't really mess with Bert, but both Jack and Will ended up as sweepers. How does that even work? Oh well. It was entertaining.  
Anywhooo.... next up is (oh crap forgot scrolling!) Inscrutable and Children. Ooh goody that means we're almost to the- nothing. Nope. Never mind. **

**If this isn't updated in a while, it's because I've got a kajillion other Mary Poppins ideas fighting for attention in my head, along with my Outsiders fic and my long-forgotten Twilight set that at least needs to be finished. Among others. Perhaps a quick Phantom? Something in Disney? A Harry Potter? **

**Mary Poppins stuff... for those curious, go ahead and read below. For those- well, how to put this- NOT, signing off! **

**~Cocoa =D**

**P.S. K-dokey: Mary Poppins ideas.**

**Some Theater-related Title: In which Mary Poppins and Bert go see a play. With some...interesting reactions. This one'll take a while- it's gone from a oneshot to five chapters.**

**The Distance in Between- The lovely Mary Poppins x Peter Pan crossover. Will also be a while, as it has also decided it doesn't want to be a oneshot and instead needs five chapters. **

**A Thousand Miles: A songfic. Vanessa Carlton, A Thousand Miles, modern-day. Refusing to divulge more.**

**With You or some other title of the sort: A DARKER Mary, a more sarcastic Bert. Also somewhat songfic-y, based of 'I'm with You', Avril Lavigne. Semi-suicidal Mary. You have been warned. (I can't wait to write this one!!!)**

**And.... a Poppins x Potter crossover. Someday, Rainbow. Someday. Promise.**

**I swear this note is almost as long as the Temptations bit... oh well. WITH THIS WE ARE OFFICIALLY HALF-WAY THROUGH THE AMAZINGLY LONG WORD THAT IS. Well darn it. It won't save it when it's spelled. Oh well. You all know the word. Spell it with me! S-U-P-E-R....**


	10. Inscrutable Children

**Bawl. I know, it took me ages. The second one gave me trouble, and I'm still not sure I like it. Oh well- right around now you're going to start getting more answers than questions, which is****. Inscrutable is mostly in Bert's point of view- which was a lot of fun, actually. Kudos for catching the references in Bert's- the end made it pretty obvious, methinks.  
Disclaimer: I had a dream that I was backstage for the Mary Poppins play. Then I woke up. So yeah….not mine.**

_Mary and Bert raced across the rooftops wildly, leaping the distance between rooftops easily. Bert somehow managed to stay just ahead of her, his long legs giving him more reach than her legs hindered by her skirts. She pulled her skirt to the side and leaned forward, putting a little extra into the next jump so she landed with a little boost._

_Bert glanced back at her, a cheeky smile splitting his face in two. "You comin, Mar?" he hollered, that perpetual grin on his face. Mary stuck out his tongue, fiercely glad no one was watching when she stumbled and bit her tongue painfully. She scrunched up her eyebrows and pulled up a bit of her power. She closed her eyes, snapped, and felt her heavy skirts lighten. When she opened her eyes, she was wearing trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. She rolled her shoulders and took a few more steps experimentally. Yes, this was much better._

_Mary took off, catching up to Bert more easily now. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and took a double-take, nearly smashing into a chimney. She stuck her tongue out at him once more, gave him a little wave, and hopped the gap between houses. Once across the gap, she slowed, waiting for him to catch up._

_When he crossed, the grin was back on his face. "Nice trick," he told her. She shrugged, and he shook his head, looking her up and down. "Looks good on ya," he informed her, before his eyes widened and he blushed. Mary flushed scarlet at the comment._

_"You don't look too bad, yourself." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she turned away, although her eyes kept straying in his direction._

_He did look good- he looked happy. It was times like these that he reminded her of the child he could be, running and laughing without a care in the world. Bert caught her eyes and grinned._

_"Y'know, Mary? Sometimes, I wonder wha' goes on in tha' 'ead of yers."_

_"I never explain anything, you know that." She mumbled awkwardly. He stepped closer, until he was only a few inches away. She could hear his breaths, still even after their little race._

_"Well, maybe it's time t' change that."_

**Inscrutable**. In all his life, Bert had only ever known two people that he could describe as inscrutable- unable of being analyzed. He was pretty good at figuring people out, he had decided one day. Not a master, like one person he knew- in fact, the other person he found inscrutable- but he had a well enough grasp on people that he could decipher the feelings behind their eyes, behind their smile, their simple words.

It had taken a long while, but he thought he was starting to make inroads on one of these previously-inscrutable people. They had known each other for years and years- they were best friends, maybe something more. He always felt happier when she was around-

But he wasn't going to get sidetracked by the way he always felt when she returned from her ventures across Europe, back to London, their home, how he almost felt as if he could _fly _whenever she was around, and-

He went off again- firmly back on task now. We were discussing this young woman's inscrutable-ness. Somehow, even though they had known each other for close to forever, Bert was still unable to comprehend some things about her.

He can't even keep up the mystique by pretending not to reveal who he's talking about- although doubtless you all have figured it out by now. Mary Poppins is-

No, he's not going to get off track _again_. Mary Poppins. Inscrutable. Right. Let's see… Bert has always been good at getting past the masks that people wear, and looking down to their true selves.

It's the eyes, maybe. You can always see a person's true feelings in their eyes. No matter how much you try to disguise it, there's something about your eyes that can't be hidden. Eyes are one of the first places he looks, if he thinks someone's lying to him. He can always see the truth there. It takes a special kind of person to be able to hide those kind of things, and they always end up giving themselves away somehow.

But then, maybe it's the way people smile, or the way they talk and move. It's the little things that tell the truth- he learned that from the other person that Bert finds inscrutable beyond his talents. You could look at their hat, their clothes, any little ordinary thing and find out all one needs to know. It's a curious trick, and Bert has applied it well in life.

Mary- he can't always get past her façade. It's not that she's aloof, or cold, or anything of the sort. She's just so- so _different_, sometimes, and he gets the feeling that he'll never come close to understanding her, but he can sure try.

There's some pieces of fact he's saved up over the time he's known her- just a few dozen pieces out of thousands of thousands, surely. But, try as he might, he can't get a clear picture of her. Here, he'll sort through some of it for you.

***** He's younger than her- although he's not sure how old she is and doesn't really care. The boys threw him a party one time up on the rooftops, and Miss Poppins 'just happened' to be present. She said that it seemed like ages since she had been that young- although it might have just been implying that she's not as carefree anymore. Bert has considered it both ways.

*****Mary's not from around here- it's a less obvious one, but if you listen closely, you can tell. Her ever-present British poise slips from time to time, slipping into an accent that Bert isn't sure he recognizes. He has spent a few enjoyable hours up on the rooftops getting her flustered enough to slip into this speech and just enjoying the show. It's only when he finds himself talking in a mixture of her accent and Cockney that she flushes and falls silent.

*** **She's more powerful than she lets on. It's noticeable sometimes, if you look real close- she'll put a little too much _oomph_ into something and it'll go spinning out of control. She'll frown a little bit and shake her head, and whatever she did wrong will instantly be back in place. It doesn't happen often, but it shakes her. Power isn't something to be trifled with- not power like hers.

*****She almost always tells the truth- Mary won't lie, not if she can't help it. Sometimes, her morals have to be stretched for the greater good, though. She won't do it often- only when she can't find another option. Let it go on the record that when Mary lies, she is a most gifted actress.

*****Mary is an actress- let's go off the previous note, shall we? This might be part of Mary's whole facade- she always knows what to do to get what she needs. She can tuck away her emotions on will- and more importantly she can pull expressions and stories out of thin air. She's a gifted storyteller, and when she does decide to explain things, she makes them obviously simple to her audience. It's a treat watching her from day-to-day, keeping up her performance. However...

*****Sometimes, Mary slips. Mary is practically perfect, but sometimes she falls short. Her mask slips, and he can catch a glimpse of who she might really be. Her eyes- those eyes, so cheery and bright, always with the sparkle of life- they're so...different. When she's not practically perfect, when Bert finds her up on the rooftops at three am, arms wrapped around her knees, back against the chimney, he can see through her charade, see the person behind the tricks and the no-nonsense attitude. Those glimpses draw him to her almost more than the person he sees every single day.

All these pieces don't mean anything- not alone, but put together they start to resemble something that might just be amazing. But Mary Poppins is impossible to understand completely- Bert sometimes thinks he knows everything he could know, only to be surprised the next moment. She's impossible to analyze, impossible to comprehend, even using the little tricks he picked up running the streets of London for the world's master of deduction.

Mary Poppins is inscrutable- Bert wouldn't have her any other way. But sometimes, he feels like calling on the house on Baker Street for just a few more lessons on how to find the truth.

**Children. **Mary Poppins is inexplicably drawn to children- that would seem obvious, from her past experiences as a nanny. She's good with them- she's definitely had enough practice. There's a certain type of magic around them that even Mary can't quite pull off- it's wonderful.

Maybe the reason Mary loves being around children is that she never truly had a London childhood of her own. She never roamed the streets, never flew a kite, never had all the toys that seem to surround children these days, never had any friends outside of her family. A tiny part of her envies her charges- they're so carefree, so innocent, so happy. It's something so easily to relate to yet so foreign, so completely out of her grasp that she somehow ended up with the closest thing to it.

Yet- another, larger part of her feels perfectly at home with children- they don't judge, they don't criticize, they're not yet exposed to the blackness and hate and disbelief of their older counterparts. Part of Mary's soul is forever suspended in this age, where the best thing to do is have fun, where violence is unthinkable. It's nice- although she'll never get the chance to be one of them, this is the closest she can get and maybe that's alright.

There's a reason Mary's drawn to them- it's a blessing, but more of a curse, truly. She can help these children, but she can never stay, never watch them grow. She'll glimpse them, later in their lives, but they don't remember her- they never do. It hurts- she'll be alive long past they grow old, but she'll remember them, while they're allowed to forget. Mary's never forgotten a face- also a blessing and a curse, actually.

Part of Mary always seems to get left behind whenever she leaves a household. She wants so bad to stay, sometimes- but she always has to move on. She's bound by her nature. She's always moving, always just skating over life, never getting the chance to just- stop. To grow, to laugh, to live.

Mary is always searching, always looking for the child who will set her free. Deep in her heart, she knows who he is, knows she'll find him eventually, _has_ to find him, because he's here, somewhere. She watched, watched him stare at the skies while she stared down at the streets below, each wishing for something different. Once she finds him, she'll be free, to do what she wants, and then she'll be happy- at least, she thinks she will.

Because as time goes on, the image of the little boy starts to fade, her mission escapes her mind, she can be happy- until the wind tugs at her soul and sends her swirling away. Off she flies, away from the person who makes her feel like a child again, swirling farther away from the boy-now-man who will set her free.

**Ooooh….I wonder what's going to happen next? Oh wait…I know…. :P**

**Again, kudos for catching the reference. I managed to combine two of my favorite things, which makes me all happy inside… **

**Next up… Explanations and X-tra special. Yeah, we're at X. Which means…we're getting to the end! ****But EXPLANATIONS next chapter…we might finally get to know something about Mary's past…???**

**Cocoa =D**


	11. eXtraspecial Explanations

**Hey all…long wait much? ;)**

**(For the people who reviewed: I highly doubt Ms. Julie will be used again, but you can feel free to use her. Also: Mary's hair is clearly stated as black in the books, and…well, she's tall but not as tall as Bert. How's that?)**

**This chapter references the books heavily. I was going to find a quote, but I don't own the books (DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.) so I…can't quote. But oh well.**

_ Mary took a step back from the intensity in Bert's eyes. "I..." this was the first time she'd been speechless in quite a long while, an irrelevant corner of her brain commented.  
Bert stepped back slowly, trying to hide his regret and disappointment and failing miserably. "'m sorry, Mary. 's not for me to say what you should do an' what you shouldn't."Mary turned abruptly and stared out over the roofs once more. Bert sighed and looked off in the other direction. He waited for a moment, and when no sound came from Mary, he spoke again. "I s'pose you'll be wantin' t' go 'ome now. I'll take you. Come on, now." He started to make his way to the edge of the roof, where they  
could get down and make their way back to the park. A sound made him freeze.  
"No." Mary didn't move, hadn't moved, but something was just a little different about her. Bert turned to look at her curiously.  
"We don't have to go," he said slowly, unsure of where this was going. Unseen to him, Mary bit her lip hard, hesitating, putting this off as long as she could. But she'd already put it off for far too long.  
"You're right," she whispered. She swallowed, closed her eyes, opened them, said it again. "You're right. I'm wrong. There are things you should know... You deserve to know." her eyes shut of their own accord. She couldn't bear to see the look on his face. Not yet.  
Bert's eyes had gone wide at her confession. He walked up to stand next to her slowly. The sight he was met with made his heart jump._

_ Mary's eyes were closed tight, shuttering her brilliant blue gaze. Her lips were pressed together, not unlike the way they did when she was irritated with something. Her hands were clasped together, although if Bert looked close enough, he could see them shaking. It all clicked at  
once for him: Mary Poppins was terrified. He had never seen her frightened before, and he didn't like it._

_ "Mary-" he started slowly. Her eyes flew open- she hadn't expected him to be so close. He pressed on carefully, treading on dangerous ground. "You don't have to tell me anything. I just- wonder sometimes. You're so- different sometimes-" Mary whirled on him, and Bert  
realized belatedly that something he had said was obviously not the right way of going about things._

_ "Different? Strange- special, you mean. I'm not like you- I'll never be like you, don't you see that? I'm not even like them- they told me I was special, told me it was good, that being special would get me places- and it has, I suppose," she murmured to herself, forgetting her anger for a split second. "But it's all led to nothing in the end. All because I was different. Special." she spat the word, twisting it in her mouth, made is something horrible and bitter and Bert felt like he didn't know this figure in front of him. She was wild and angry and beautiful and _special_ and wonderful and it was nearly impossible to reconcile her with the quiet, polite, no-nonsense woman he saw nearly every day.  
"Mary..." he didn't know what to say. So he was silent as he watched all the anger ebb from her body. She slumped, drooping down, down until she was seated on the rooftop.  
"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was muffled by her hands. Bert was sitting on the ground next to her before the words were out. "I lost my head." Bert hesitated for a second before wrapping an arm around her shoulders._

_ "You are special, Mar." he said quietly. "That's what I- we love about you." Mary was quiet for a long moment. She finally looked up, and just like that she was back to normal._

_ "So," she said. "What do you want to know?"_

Mary Poppins never explained anything, not to anyone, not ever. It never seemed like a good idea. She was so different- her whole life she was convinced that no one would ever understand.

She was the oldest child, the firstborn in a family of star-children. Seven sisters would follow, but she would remain forgotten. Her whole life, it was drilled in her to never _ever_ explain anything. They were better. They were _special._

Mary always was curious about life. It was her only secret in her family. She wanted to know about life outside of her tiny enclosed world, rarely interacting with other stars and constellations. She wanted to know about the people, the places, impossibly far away for them but only just out of reach for her.

It was the children that always caught her eye. The small ones, little boys and girls scarcely older than herself. She always found it curious that they wished on stars- it was a silly tradition that would never amount to anything.

But still, she watched them always. Day after day she was drawn to them, watching down on them, shirking her studies and duties to gaze at a world so unlike her own.

Her younger sisters laughed and called her special, their special Mary P. Silly Mary, always staring down at the planets whirling by instead of doing her chores. Only Maia- the third-oldest and Mary's closest sibling- was drawn to the people below the way Mary was. But she would only stay for a moment before darting off to do something else, to dance with the stars and collect the rains for Spring.

The years wheeled by until Mary found herself in that precarious spot between childhood and adulthood. Still, it was the children she was drawn to down below, even as the girls and boys she watched from above grew older and older, donning caps and dresses and entering a whole new world she would never have access to.

A new generation took their place, and she wanted to be _there_ instead of _here_, wanted to help them and guide them and do _something_ because she wasn't like her sisters and she could never be.

Silly special Mary, always staring down below. It was sweet when she was a child, their little star-baby, but now, on the verge of adulthood, it was downright embarrassing. But yet…she couldn't manage to tear herself away.

It was her father that ended up sending her away. She was a fool for not noticing it sooner, but she had been utterly captivated by a child down on Earth. He was a little boy with a shock of brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes, and there was something about him that she didn't quite understand but was desperate to find out about. It was his fault she was cast off, yet she couldn't find it in herself to blame him because a small part of her mind had been asking for it for a long time.

He never meant to do Mary harm in sending her down to Earth. He wanted her to be happy, and since that was clearly impossible in the skies, his only chance was to say goodbye. He told her to come back when she found the boy who had stolen her heart, as it was clear that her heart was no longer here.

She said goodbye to her mother and father, two of the only goodbyes she'd ever given away. Maia caught sight of her on her way out the door, and Mary was forced to repeat the two words that had grown bitter in her mouth. _Good bye. Good-bye goodbye good bye _and _it wasn't fair._

She lingered outside the door for a moment, part of her screaming to turn around, go back to her life and beg for forgiveness, to tell them that she didn't want to be special anymore, she just wanted to be home. But Mary never never _never_ gave in.

So Mary left, trading one name for another, until she was no longer Mary Pleiade but Mary Poppins, forgotten sister-star. Even by human standards, she was different, curious, _special._ She made not-quite-friends, companions, those who were just a little off by regular standards but similar enough to her to make her not feel so _alone_.

She didn't forget her old life- she couldn't. Between her desperate struggle to remain aloof and proper and keep _some_ semblance of her old life, and her interactions with other people who weren't quiet ordinary- her dances with the constellations and one heartbreaking Christmas shopping trip where she came face-to-face with her favorite sister, among others- she _couldn't_ forget.

She tried to go home sometimes. When she pinned the smallest stars back to the sky, she tried to find that well of power that could send her straight on toward morning. Every time she found it tucked away, hidden from her, a well-meaning curse that forbid her from finding home until she had found her heart.

Mary flitted from house to house with the wind, taking care of broken children because every sad smile and lonely sigh reminded her of the broken expression on a face with big brown eyes. She always cared for the children equally- no one could say she ever treated her charges unfairly- but she always peered at the boys more closely, especially the brown-eyed, brown-haired charges.

Time moves strangely in the skies. As Mary stayed nearly-almost-not-quite the same age, the others grew, from baby to child, child to man, until the little girls Mary grew up with were old women, the children she watched just before leaving were her age, or perhaps just a little older. How strangely time moves…

Silly special Mary Pleiade-Poppins. Even as she waited for the wind to change, to send her on her way to the next child in need, the next child who could perhaps break the curse but also perhaps just delay her freedom, a boy-grown-man with brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes waits patiently for her to find her way home.

** It almost seems a shame to ask you to review, for the count is 42, which is THE BEST NUMBER OF ALL TIME. But anyway.**

** Feel free to decide for yourself exactly **_**what**_** Mary explained. No guesses on who The Boy (capitalized) is. Remember…none of this is real… mwhahah. But you WILL see a little more of Mary's history. Just…not now.**

** I'm hoping to finish this story up on vacation (and perhaps Part II of The Distance in Between?)… until next time, which'll be P & I: Park and Indigo!**

** Cocoa =D**


	12. Indigo Park

**Hi. Hehe. So...I didn't do anything over vacation. Oh well.**

**Park is one hundred words...Indigo turned into a monster. But it's one of my favorite letters so far.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Belongs to Disney and P.L Travers respectively. (This is another chapter that relies on the book a bit..)**

**Indigo Park**

_They sat in silence for a few moments before Bert finally asked one more question. "You do know... None of this is real. You din'nt 'ave t' do anything." Mary chuckled, one side of her mouth twisting up in a wry smile._

_"I know. It was good practice either way." she stood up, brushing dust off her clothes. Bert shrugged and stood up, stretching his long legs as he stood. He glanced at the time and sighed.  
"We've still got a few more places to go if you want," he informed her. Mary shrugged._

_"Lead the way, then." They climbed down from the roof nimbly, and were soon trotting through the park once more. Mary vaguely recognized the route as one that led to Cherry Tree Lane.  
She snapped absent-mindedly, and her clothes blurred to become the indigo dress she always wore._

_Bert smiled at her cheerfully. She smiled back, feeling lighter and happier than before, somehow. They walked through the park quietly- there wasn't a need for words just yet. So Mary just followed Bert and let herself tuck away all the memories away for safekeeping until they were needed once more.  
_

Park.

If one was to search for Mary Poppins, one would always find her at the park. It was easy to see why- there's statues and children and everything she loves. Without fail, she always takes her charges to the nearest park, and there they spend many happy days before the wind changes.

There's something about the park by Cherry Tree Lane that is special, though. Be it the streetlights or a few special statues or a certain special chimney sweep, she always finds herself there.

Secretly she thinks it's because, when she closes her eyes, it almost feels like home.

Indigo.

The constellations always met exactly three days before an eclipse, and Mary Poppins was always invited to join them. It gave her the chance to catch up with her old life, everything she was missing during her time on Earth, and she would seize any opportunity she could get.

Mary appeared five minutes early, clad in her second-nicest brown dress, and sat just behind the sun- out of sight and out of mind- but she could still hear perfectly well. Most of the meeting failed to interest her- it mainly consisted of plans for the Eclipse just days away- but she perked up at mentions of the Dance scarcely two weeks away.

The summer solstice was always marked with one of the biggest celebrations of the year. The extra hours of daylight left plenty an opportunity to celebrate. With its proximity to the Eclipse, this year's event promised to be the most spectacular of the decade- and, of course, Mary would not be permitted to attend.

The thought stung, and Mary withdrew into her seat, not-quite-sulking. She was cut off mid-sight when the Sun leaned back in his chair with a sigh, stretching both arms back and dropping a somewhat-singed note into her lap.

Mary hastily extinguished the edges of the paper, still smoldering from his fingers, and red the note twice before tucking the slip of paper into the pocket of her dress, mind racing. Arrangements would have to be made, her Day Off shifted, money to collect. It wasn't often that her sisters came for a visit.

Early the next morning, Mary Poppins, who never _ever_ explained anything, was nearly forced to spill her life story to her rather snobby client, who refused to change her Day Off unless given a Very Good Reason. She hated hated _hated_ using magic without a good cause, and this didn't quite seem to qualify, but with some skilled maneuvering she convinced the woman to let her have her Day Off. Spouting some half-truths about family visiting town worked to an extent, and a soft snap of her fingers took care of the rest.

She met her sisters at a dress shop halfway across London and instantly felt at home. Maia was instantly attached to her side, baby Merope clutching Electra's hand, and all the others falling into step beside her. She felt whole again, all parts of her together once more, seven pieces reattaching themselves to create part of the picture that was Mary P.

Talk echoed in the quiet alley outside the dress shop where the girls had arrived.

"You look so different-"

"-dress is so-"

"-so excited for the Solstice-"

"-forgot how beautiful you all were!" Mary exclaimed over her sisters. Maia released her hand to twirl happily, dark blue skin contrasting sharply over her soft white dress.

"It's indigo- we all decided," she informed her eldest sister, before pausing. "But- weren't you the one who-"

"Indigo is the color of the sky at night," Merope informed Mary solemnly. Mary nodded, hiding a wince at Maia's slip. Long ago, Mary had stumbled across the word, and promptly brought it into her sisters' vocabulary. It seemed that they had adopted the word, just as she had.

"Well, come along ladies. Time runs short, and we have things to do before you must leave and I must return home," she said sharply, as she turned on her heel and guided her sisters into the dress shop.

Dresses of all shapes, sizes, colors, and styles greeted the eight women, and yet none of them were quite right. The size was always just a little bit off, or the color was wrong, and two hours and three dress shops later Mary was nearly ready to admit defeat.

Mary sighed tiredly, her prim facade completely faded away after the stressful afternoon and two hours spent in the presence of her family. She had noticed herself slipping into her old accent more than once- it frightened her how easily she slipped into old habits. It was so simple to pretend that she could return to the skies at the end of the afternoon, fit right back into her old life, find a dress and dance across the skies like she longed to. It went against everything she was to remain on Earth, yet she couldn't return. Not yet.

She shook her head, focusing on the girls in front of her. "Those are the three best shops in London," she explained once more. "The afternoon is nearly gone and none of you have dresses, and I don't believe you will receive another opportunity such as this." Maia tugged her hand once.

"Can't you make our dresses for us?"

Mary was on the verge of delivering a snappish reply when she paused- and Electra took advantage of her moment's hesitation.

"You always were the best seamstress out of all of us, Mary. Couldn't you make dresses for us, oh please?" A chorus of pleas accompanied her, and Mary always had found it nearly impossible to deny her sisters.

"All right. I'll make the dresses. I'll need fabric- we don't have long and the best store is nearly clear across town." Electra laughed and clapped her hands delightedly. Before Mary could blink, they were in front of the store she had in mind. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it- it had been so long since she had given such little regard to her talents.

They spent their final minutes together choosing yards and yards of fabric, Maia dancing down the aisles with fabric trailing after her like a technicolor bridal train. The sisters helped her get the bundles of fabric back home and promised to have their measurements for her by the next morning, promising to visit to help with the dresses any chance they got.

They all trooped up to the rooftops, just as the sun set over the city and a fog rolled in. Mary went down the line, hugging her sisters close. Electra's hands trembled as they closed around her elder sister, and tears sparkled like diamonds down Maia's cheeks. Little Merope, the baby, asked the question that hurt Mary the most about their brief visit.

"Mary, when are you coming home?" Merope whispered into Mary's ear, as the older woman knelt to put her arms around her youngest sister.

"I-" Mary hesitated, unsure if she could answer, her practically perfect human self clashing hard with her indigo-skinned magical star self, tearing her in two.

"Merope! We have to go!" Electra called, the rest of her sisters already floating, darting upward into the sky, shooting stars. Merope released her grasp, pressed a kiss to Mary Poppins's cheek, and ran up into the sky without a backwards glance.

Seven dresses to be made in two weeks was a challenge to even the best seamstress, and Mary Poppins was worked to the bone trying to keep up. A quiet message to Uncle Albert earned her a bottle of his best cider, which was enough to keep her awake on the longest nights. Nearly every evening was spent stitching furiously on one dress or another, surrounded by fabric and needles and ribbons and everything imaginable. Even the strongest cider couldn't keep her awake indefinitely- she found herself awakening several times to find her head buried in mounds and mounds of fabric, oftentimes scarcely avoiding stabbing herself with the needle.

Mary had set up shop in her carpetbag, of all places. It turned out that the bag was nearly limitless in its capabilities, given the proper instruction. She would often disappear into the bag for moments at a time, stitching furiously at one of the dresses while the children tidied the playroom, reappearing when the eldest twins called her name. Often she found at least one of her sisters tucked into a corner of the little room, checking the measurements and fixing the things she had missed, before working hard on their own dress.

The seven dresses slowly took shape, going from petty bits of fabric to things of beauty. It wasn't quickly enough. The solstice was four days away, and only four of the dresses were finished. The days were long enough and the preparations for the celebration large enough that the girls scarcely had time to help, and Mary was exhausted, to the point that her practically perfect facade was beginning to slip.

It was Bert who noticed it first, of course. She was at the park, leaning up against the statue of Peter Pan that she could nearly always be found talking to. Her eyes were closed against the summer sun, not looking up even as Bert moved to sit beside her.

"Mary?" He asked after a moment or two of silence. She opened her eyes and tilted her head toward Bert. Something about her was different, but for a moment he couldn't quite place her finger on what.

"Yes, Bert?"

"What's wrong?" She shot him a look that told him to leave it alone, and he returned her gaze evenly. She sighed in defeat, and looked away, watching the children for a moment before starting to speak.

"I never explain anything, Bert. You know that." Bert barked out a laugh.

"If you'll excuse m' saying, Mary, you don' look like yourself. Seems t' me that explainin' might do the trick." She sighed tiredly, weighing his words carefully.

"I made a promise," she started, choosing her words carefully," to some dear friends. Time has almost run out, and I don't know if I will be able to fulfill my promise."

"'Ow can I 'elp?" It was the most obvious answer to him. She turned to him, almost hopefully, and Bert realized what had changed. The stars had been missing from her eyes.

"Bert- do you- do you know how to sew?"

Mary met Bert on the rooftops at nightfall, carpetbag in hand. "Thank you for this, Bert. I'm nearly at my wit's end- it's so close to the Solstice and I can't-" she cut herself off, shocked at how close she was to explaining, but Bert finished for her anyway.

"'S not any trouble, Mary. Just let me know what you want me t' do." She nodded once, and opened the lip of her carpetbag. He shot her a dubious look, and she rolled her eyes impatiently. Setting the bag on the ground, she climbed in, and after a stunned moment of silence, Bert followed her.

A low whistle escaped from Bert as he examined the cluttered room. Fabric was draped from every available surface, and the finished dresses hung from a rack on the side, safely away from the mess. Bert glanced at the dresses, running his finger over the fabric appreciatively, and smiled at Mary.

"Where do y' want me t' start?"

It had to be well past midnight by the time the pair started to show the strain. "Mary?"

"Mmm?" Mary mumbled through a mouth full of pins.

"Why can't you just do your lil' trick- the snapping thing?" He snapped his fingers together with his free hand as if to demonstrate.

"I can't," she mumbled around the pins in her mouth, as she removed a few to stick two pieces of fabric together as Bert followed with the needle.

"Why not? Y' do it for everything else," he persisted, nearly pricking his finger, for his eyes were watching the woman crouching next to him instead of where he was guiding the needle. Her temper flared, and she stood, tossing the pins on the table beside her in frustration.

"I just can't, Bert! Don't you think if I could, I would? I can't just snap my fingers and have everything work for me- it doesn't work like that, no matter how much I wish it could!"

Bert stood up slowly, placing his hands in front of him, as if to calm a frightened animal. "'M sorry, Mary. I just though' since y' can do it fer some of our clothes-" it was common knowledge among the sweeps that if a shirt had torn or been otherwise destroyed beyond their ability to fix, Mary would repair the article in question with a quick snap of her fingers.

"Yes, but this isn't the same, Bert! These dresses have to be perfect, and they won't be perfect if I do-" she snapped, unable to find the words in the midst of her rant. "I have to do it...they have to be perfect! Or else I'll have failed them...I can't fail again..." she sagged, and Bert could have sworn that he saw tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Mary-" he started, even as she shook her head, the first tears leaking from her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks.

"Please. Please don't- just go." She turned abruptly, as Bert stood frozen in the center of the room. "Please go," Mary whispered, voice muffled by her hands. Bert took a step or two towards the door, before shaking his head and crossing the room back towards Mary. He knelt on the floor next to her, a comforting arm round her shoulders, keeping her steady even as her shoulders shook.

Eventually her breaths evened out, and Bert made her as comfortable as he could, before turning to the half-finished dress once more.

Mary Poppins woke up at sunrise with tearstains on her cheeks, along with five completed dresses and the feeling that Bert had only just disappeared.

She didn't see him at the park that day, though they lingered nearly until closing time. Their small group found him just outside the gates as the constable locked the entrance, hat placed on the ground beside him as he sprawled out across the pavement, chalk in hand.

Mary dropped a pair of coins into his hat, and the clink of change brought Bert's attention to them. He straightened, dusting chalk off his clothes and offering a hand to each one of her charges cheerfully. They shook eagerly, the saying about sweeper's luck well ingrained in their memories by now. Bert showed them his drawings, pointing out details as the children argued over which one would be best to visit. As they discussed with voices that were slowly gaining volume, Mary touched Bert's hand softly.

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior last night. I- I lost my temper. These dresses- they're for my- my-" she couldn't bring herself to say it, to explain herself, to bring back that sharp sting that reminded her that her sisters were not like her, could not be like her, because she was down here and they were up there.

"They're fer your family, aren't they?" He asked her, putting a hand on each of the children's heads to quiet them. She blinked at him in utter shock, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I figure tha's what it's got t' be, t' put you in such a twist."

"I-" Fortunately, he cut her off, for she hadn't the faintest clue what she was about to say.

"It doesn't matter, Mary. Do you still need 'elp wit' the last two?" She nodded dumbly, and nodded, patting the children's heads once. "I'll meet you at the same place, then. Oy, y' both can go tomorrow, if Miss Poppins says it's alrigh'. But isn't it time fer lil' ones t' be in bed?" The obligatory protests that they weren't tired brought Mary out of her daze, and with a few sharp words, the group parted, leaving Bert standing under the streetlight with his pictures, marveling at the mysterious creature that was Mary Poppins.

Late that night, two figures met on the rooftops. They split a bottle of cider, and then disappeared into the carpetbag until morning.

Mary had only one night left until the Solstice, and needed every moment she could to finish up. She sent another quiet message up to the stars, and baby Merope paid a visit once more. She stayed in the carpetbag as Bert and Mary brought the children into the picture the two eldest had managed to agree on. Bert kept a watchful eye on the children and the carpetbag, as Mary worked desperately, with Merope's help, to put the finishing touches on the dresses.

By nightfall, Mary was worn out, the effects of the cider long gone. She was running on sheer willpower and whatever magic she could scrounge up to keep her going, and she couldn't imagine how Bert was still awake and cheerful. He shrugged when she asked tiredly, and gestured for her to try on the next dress.

It was a complete mystery to Bert how seven dresses of dramatically different sizes and styles managed to fit Mary, but it wasn't something he'd question, not about Mary and not at this late hour. He tied the ribbon in the back tightly and tried to keep his tired brain from focusing on how beautiful Mary was, even when she was pushed to her very limits. He succeeded only when he pricked his finger and nearly bled all over the brand new dress.

Even though they were both worn out, they both still managed to keep up an easy sort of conversation. Bert could feel his accent coming out worse as the exhaustion took its toll on him, and Mary slipped into a strange sort of accent he was unable to place, soft and lilting.

"So- why doesn't th' magic work on these dresses?" He asked as he sewed a small rip in the fabric with quick fingers.

"It's something about the magic- they're too powerful, too full of magic for it to work. The clothes would fall apart at the seams," was her easy reply. It was interesting to note that the longer Mary went without her practically perfect attitude, the more open she was about her magic and her past and who she actually was. "It's one of the reasons I can't make most of my own clothes. The other is that I don't have the time-" she yawned tiredly. "Excuse me. " He smiled up at her, and she smiled back sleepily.

"Well- I think tha's it. Unless there's anythin' else?" He asked, standing up and examining the last dress. She looked down curiously, as if surprised that they had gotten through all the dresses in time.

"No," she said slowly. "I'll just- there's something I have to put on the littlest dress, but other than that-"

"I'll go an' get it, go ahead and change," he said, going off in the direction she had pointed to as she disappeared behind the curtain.

When a few long moments had passed without a sound from Mary, he called her name softly, with no response.

When he peered around the curtain, staring fixatedly at the wall until he was sure she was decent- propriety demanded nothing less- he found Mary asleep, back in her everyday dress, the miniature dress folded neatly in the corner. He picked it up gently, placed it on the table, and returned for her, setting her on the bed that had appeared sometime in the past two days. She was impossibly light, and she had unconsciously curled closer into him as he crossed the short distance, two facts that made it difficult for him to let her go.

He sewed on the last bit of the dress, and spread the seven dresses onto the bed next to Mary, studying the sight for only a moment or two before he placed a kiss on her forehead and disappearing out onto the rooftops.

Mary's eyes flitted open for a moment as she was placed onto the bed. She watched through half closed eyelids as Bert sewed quietly, humming to himself under his breath. He placed the dresses beside her, and as she slipped back into sleep, she dreamed that his lips brushed her forehead for an instant, and then he was gone. The next time she opened her eyes, it was sunrise, and the seven dresses were gone. In their place was only one, along with a note addressed to her.

She sat up, taking the note in her hands and reading it slowly.

_Mary-_

_Thank you so much for making the dresses for us. We know how difficult it was for you- we're sorry about all the trouble._

_But the dresses are so beautiful! We love them- we'll be the stars of the celebration (no pun intended). Thank you thank you THANK YOU. _

_In return for your troubles, we made you a dress as well. We think you'll like the color. You shouldn't have the trouble with this dress that you have with some of your other clothes. Take it as a token of our appreciation._

_We miss you Mary. We wish you could be here with us. When are you coming back? Please come home soon._

_With love,_

_Electra_

_Maia_

_Taygete_

_Alcyone _

_Celano_

_Sterope, and _

_Merope._

The dress fit perfectly, as she expected it to. She kept it on as she woke up the children and set them about their day.

They saw Bert in passing as evening fell, under his streetlight once more. "'ello, Mary, children. New dresses?" He asked, for both she and the little girl were wearing new outfits. The girl nodded solemnly and twirled for him to see, and Mary resisted the urge to do so herself.

"Wha' color would you call that?" He asked Mary, studying her dress carefully, no doubt trying to match it to one of his chalks.

"It's indigo," she told him. "The color of the sky at night." She tilted her head up, and in the sky, far off in the distance, she could have sworn one of the stars winked.

**Next up is A and L: Alfred and Looooooove. (Herbert Alfred, anyone? C'mon, I HAD to devote a chapter to Bert somehow!)**

**Cocoa =D**


	13. Love and Friendship

**You would not **_**believe**_** the trouble this chapter has given me, what with the technological fails and the utter cluelessness I have when it comes to love. Oh, and the newfound obsession with the completely epic show Doctor Who. I blame jedigirl entirely.**

**(But seriously, this chapter gave me the HUGEST amount of oysh. Like…ugh. But maybe that's just me. I'll let y'all decide.)**

**Note that this was written while listening to the love song from Tangled over and over again, A) because it was a FANTASTIC movie, and B) it's a love song, so I figure it'll help. **

**But anyway. Enough author-note-ness and onto the writing for the final fourteen minutes I have with this computer.**

**Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is Mary Poppins. Or David Tennant. Or- you know what, let's just move on.**

_Bert pulled a key out of his pocket as they reached the familiar house on Cherry Tree Lane, tossing it up and down contemplatively as they approached the door. Mary sent him a curious look as he trotted up to the door, and he shrugged as he inserted the key into the locked door. _

_"Bert outdid himself on this one," Mary said absently, peering over her shoulder at the world around her, even as the smaller version of the chimney sweep unlocked the door and pushed it open gingerly. _

_"Mhm- quite the artist I turned out t' be," Bert agreed, shoving the key back into his pocket and holding the door open for her cheerily. Mary stepped through, and he closed the door carefully, the latch clicking into place loudly in the sudden silence._

_They stood in the foyer for a moment, before Bert shook himself and darted up the stairs, footsteps echoing loudly in the too-still house. Mary blinked at him, and he grinned at her, twitching his hand in invitation. _

_She smiled suddenly, and slid up the banister after him, giggling at the familiar rush she felt every time she did that._

_Bert caught her at the top of the stairs, a hand wrapped around her forearm. She had barely caught her breath before they were racing down the hallway to the children's room. They lurched along, Bert pulling her forward as she attempted not to trip on the rug. _

_The door was ajar, and Bert pushed it open with his shoulder and stepped inside, Mary pausing in the doorway, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over her._

_She wasn't all that fond of sentimentality, but somehow Michael and Jane had managed to worm their way into her heart. For a fleeting moment it seemed like they had just skipped downstairs to find a glass of water, and before long their voices would echo up the stairs, arguing about some trivial matter. Then she would scold them gently, and they'd clean the playroom- it was looking just the slightest bit untidy, no doubt from Michael forgetting to pick up his toys when he was finished- and then they'd be able to go on with their day…_

_"They aren't here, Mary," Bert said gently, from his spot against the door. Mary startled, shaking her head and trying to clear the echoing laughter out of her head. _

_"Of course. Now, what were you going to show me?" Bert tilted his head toward the mirror against the wall, and she glanced at it. It took her a few painful seconds to realize why Bert's attention was fixated on the small circle on the wall, even after she found herself just in front of it._

_The bed on the opposite wall wasn't reflected._

_Instead, the mirror showed another room, another window, another skyline not-quite-right for where they were in London._

_"It's your room," Bert said from just behind her. She flinched violently, and a warm hand returned to her forearm. The contact reassured her more than it should have. _

_"Mirrors- in this world- they show the outside. Tha's your room, see? On the bed-" and now Mary did see, a small white card. She knew if the card were open, she would see the very painting she had traveled into. The details of her little adventure made her head spin if she thought about it too hard, so she gave up and stared at the skyline, trying to make out the tiny figure on the rooftop opposite hers._

_"That's me- or, rather, that world's me." She felt rather than saw him shake his head. "This whole thing is confusin', in'nt it?" She let out a short laugh of agreement, and glanced toward the mirror. _

_The figure on the rooftop was gone._

Alfred, Herbert. Bert. On one or two occasions, Bertie-boy. Bert is one of those people that Mary has previously described as indescribable. How do you begin to describe someone that has become a fixture in your life, something that you take for granted until it's gone? The words are impossible to find.  
Even with Mary's not-inconsiderable intellect, she's always had difficulty classifying Bert. Where do you start?  
It would be easy to describe him physically- tall, with dark hair and eyes. A smattering of soot perpetually smudged across his face contrasts sharply with the brilliant smile that also rarely disappears.

(The smile changes sometimes, subtly. The one she likes best is the one he only shows her, the one with the softened edges when he doesn't _have_ to be cheerful and bright, when he's just being that way because that's who he is.)

His clothes aren't fancy- he doesn't have much, and what he does have is worn until it's tattered and ragged- but they're colorful, and often spattered with paint or chalk dust or whatever else he's been working with lately. He always tries to get rid of the worst of it, his efforts redoubled whenever he sees a trace of chalk transferred from his shirt to one of Mary's giggling charges. It never succeeds, and eventually he's gotten used to it, the patches of color as much a part of him as the smile.  
But perhaps the best way to describe someone is through their personality. Bert is funny, what with his bad puns and riddles, but sometimes he's _funny_, with a sharp wit and sharper tongue, shocking a laugh out of her while the children look on in puzzlement. Bert is nice, kind, caring. Being a sweep has changed him from the rough-around-the-edges teenager she had first met.

(She was one of the first people she met upon arriving the city, and it frightened her how real he was. He swore and flirted with danger and flirted with _her_ and his smile was different, wilder. Over time he settled down, but every once in a while she'll still see a flash of the person he was, not-quite-Bert but not-quite _not_ him either.)

He's loyal, always the first one to step in when there's trouble, and the last one to back down from danger. Bert's saved her from trouble no less than three times, and has saved her from herself just as often.  
Even though he only had a few years of schooling, Bert is clever. He isn't eloquent and his spelling is average at best, but if you look close, you can see that spark of brilliance in his eyes, unrefined but still showing in the careful way he thinks everything over.

(He has this habit of thinking outside the box, finding ways around things that have the rest of the world stumped. He'll never be a genius, but sometimes Mary wonders who he could have been had he been given an honest-to-goodness chance, if he'd still be her Bert, or someone completely different)  
Bert is everything she is not- grounded, yet careless, filled with hope and free, so free sometimes she's surprised he doesn't just fly up into the sky, reaching for the stars just like the kites he adores.

(He brought her a kite one time, when she was getting ready to leave. The park was quiet- must have been a school day- and the wind was picking up and she was about to fly when he waltzed in with a brilliant red kite.

And they didn't talk about her leaving again. They sent the kite flying into the air, and laughed and talked until the wind carried her away.)  
That's another thing about Bert- he's always reaching up, higher and higher, grasping for something just out of sight. From the kites to the rooftops to the wishing on stars, there's always something, and the look on his face always reminds her of something she can't quite put her finger on, another wish, another dream-  
_**(-and then she remembered the little boy with stars in his eyes (dark eyes, set in a round face topped with a mess of dark hair), and the way he wished for his dreams, and the way she wished for hers, watching him watching her-)**_

And then it all connected.

_"'E loves you, y' know," Bert said nonchalantly, as if they were talking about the weather or the price of biscuits on Third Street. _

_"Mmmhm," Mary said absently, waiting for the familiar figure to reappear. He did only moments later, climbing up the ladder on the side of her rooms- she could only just catch a glimpse of him through the window._

_Through the mirror she could see him lean out to glance into her room. His brow furrowed as he glance around the empty room, eyes flickering to the coat still hanging by the door and bag by the bed. His gaze finally landed on the bed, and as he noticed the card half-open on the bed, his expression smoothed into a soft smile._

_He shook his head, muttered something inaudible to himself, and continued on toward the roof._

_It was only then that Mary registered what the Bert beside her had said._

_"Wait- pardon?" She whirled around to face him, forgetting exactly how close he was. He was nearly her height, something that wasn't-quite-true out in the real world._

_"He loves you," Bert repeated steadily. His dark eyes studied her carefully, and she could feel herself blushing, unsure why._

_She turned to the window once more, her mind swirling with laughter and smiles and glances and secrets and friendship and that __**onelastkissgoodbye**__, and suddenly everything made sense._

_"He loves me," she whispered. "Perhaps…perhaps I love him, too."_

Love. Mary is familiar with the concept, and all that it entails. Love is one of those things she adores without restraint- she thrives on it, almost craves it. Love is- it's another one of those things that she has difficulty describing, because she didn't used to need words for it. It was always just _there._

(Christmas is always Mary's happiest time of year. A celebration dedicated to love is something beautiful indeed.)

Even though Mary can never get enough of that feeling of loving and being loved (by her charges and her family and by her friends above all), she is realistic to know that love isn't always perfect - after all, it is the singular most popular item wished for, and the one that hardly ever comes true.  
Even with that disheartening fact niggling in the back of her mind like a warning, telling her not to get too attached because _look what happens then_, Mary understands and embraces the idea of love and its many different forms.  
Familial love is the one most familiar to her, the one she tends to see more often than not. Deep down families really do love each other, even though they bicker and tease and play nasty tricks on each other. Families aren't perfect- they can never be- but sometimes it's just good enough.

(She likes the dynamic between siblings best- they'll fight and fight and fight, tearing each other apart over the silliest things, but there's hardly ever any real malice between them- and by the end of the night they'll be curled up together in front of the fireplace, resting tired heads on the other's shoulders.)

Friendship is another thing she understands readily- not the awkward kind of acquaintanceship that women have with each other when they need to be polite and have someone to gossip with, but the type of friendship where she can let down her inhibitions and be _Mary_, not Miss Mary Poppins, prim and perfect.

(Of course, she never lets down her guard _completely_, because she's always just going to be that littlest bit different, and that's what leaves her watching while the rest of the world does its complicated dance around her.)

True friendship, _real_ friendship is something akin to another family. They'll always be there for you, not matter what the trouble may be. It's the kind of friendship where you know everything about that person (sometimes more than you ever wanted to know). You can spend hours talking to them, or saying nothing at all, because sometimes just being with them is enough.

(Somewhere along the line, Mary found another family in the sweepers. They brought her in without question, even when she had nothing, and to this day she has difficulty expressing her gratitude. Whenever she tries, they just laugh and tell her she'd do the same for any of them.

It's taken her a long time to realize just how true that is.)

Love as it is commonly looked upon is what irks her, though. Couples with hands clasped, giggling and finishing each other's sentences and calling each other by endearments that would never pass the lips of someone in possession of all their senses. They drive her mad.

Because these are the couples that never last. They're together for a while, sometimes years, appearing perfect to the rest of the world.

They're not.

It starts with the little arguments over insignificant things and dissolves into yelling and throwing things and harsh words and tears and broken hearts.

And nothing's really ever the same again between those two.

(Mary's heart always breaks for those innocent couples, the ones who think they're desperately in love, because it never lasts, hardly ever.)

Love isn't like that- not really. It's more like smiles and glances and knowing you'll do anything for that other person. Love means flaws, and accepting them for those flaws. It's being so fiercely protective of them, you'll stop at nothing to make sure they're safe and happy. It's being unable to stay away from them too long- it's something to come home to.

Bert loves Mary- she's known that for a while. He'd do anything for her. He's that one thing in her life she somehow cannot live without. He's that one person who has never failed to make her smile. He's that one constant in her life, that thing she can always return to, no matter what else has changed.

Bert loves Mary. Mary loves Bert. She always has, (since the day she was a little girl dancing through the sky, and he was a little boy roaming the streets and dreaming of something wonderful.)

Mary loves Bert. She always has. She thinks that she always will.

**(Please excuse my newfound love for parenthetical asides. I'm actually going to start work on the next chapter right away, so with any luck it'll be up before the new year)**

**Cocoa =D**

**P.S. Next two letters are I and D: Imagination and Dreams!**


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